


A Love That Will Never Grow Old

by satanic_panic



Category: The Lone Gunmen (TV), The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder, Mutual Pining, Old Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 76,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29471202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satanic_panic/pseuds/satanic_panic
Summary: Scully and Mulder solve a murder case and give it to The Lone Gunmen to report on, but in doing so, Byers is lead back to a town from his past, and straight into the arms of a love that he thought he would never see again.
Relationships: John Byers/Reader, John Fitzgerald Byers/Reader
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Thanks to Agent Mulder of the FBI and his partner Agent Doctor Dana Scully, Byers and Frohike and Jimmy and Langly had a new article to write, which really seemed like a godsend due to the fact that they had been struggling to find something to write about for a while, but that was also coupled with the fact that they had next to no money to publish their paper, meaning that they had to find a very big case to report on; and thankfully, Mulder had just the thing for them. There was a town, it wasn’t on any maps nor was it even recognized as an actual place, there was a town where some suspicious and perhaps even spooky murders had occurred; the murders had all been at the same time - three o’clock in the morning, precisely - and although they were all deemed as animal attacks at first, with the fact that claw marks were found on each victim’s body, gouged deep into their stomachs and back, there were also the very clear impressions of wolfish bite marks upon each victim’s neck, deep and nearly beheading each of the six victims. Something of that nature had never once been recorded in that small town, something so serious and gory had never once been recorded to have happened, but now it was, and the Gunmen were sure that they had found a new article to write up the very second they saw the crime scene photographs; granted, the pictures were bloody and gory and unsettling, causing each of the four companions to feel a slight churning in their stomachs as their faces screwed up with disgust and they squeezed their eyes tightly shut to try and recoil from what they had seen, each of the four companions would bite at their lip and tug at the fine top layer of skin, pulling it away and groaning softly as they gagged and retched but could not quite bring anything up from their stomachs - they had seen bodies before, they had seen gory and graphic photographs before, but none of them had seen so terrible as the ones they looked at now. The tips of their fingers felt cold and raw. Their spines wriggled as cold shivers went down them. Fine blond hairs at the back of their necks stood up with prickly disgust. Darker fine hairs on their arms shot up straight as goosebumps began to form upon their own flesh. There had been so much blood. The fact that the organs of each victim, the stomach, the large intestine, the small intestine, the liver, the kidneys, the lungs, even the heart and the pancreas and the appendix and the spleen were dragged out of the bodies, strewn about recklessly as if the murderer - a man called Charlie Bateman - had been looking for something amongst flesh and bone and tissue, as if he had been digging through their bodies for buried treasure and cared so little about those internal organs that he simply tossed them aside like dirt, letting them pool onto the ground. The victims’ faces were frozen in horror, blank wide eyes and mouths open in terror, mouths open in silent blood curdling screams. Mulder had explained what had happened, he had explained that he and Scully had found Bateman hiding out in a cave system not too far from the town, Bateman had been using it as a place to live, becoming nocturnal during his spree in order to use the dead of night, the cover of darkness, as a cloak to mask himself and to make his awful needs very much concealed. Bateman was a fear mongering man to look at, every single second that the four companions looked at his mugshot, they could feel something watching them, they could feel their heart rates rising as adrenaline started to kick in. Run, boys, run. Bateman was terrifying. Dead behind the eyes of a hazel colour, large pupils. Neatly combed and styled dyed-neon and bright blue hair that was almost a mullet but a little bit more stylish than that. On his face, the camera had picked up the little freckles of leftover blood. How they dripped down his features and he stuck his tongue out, pointing it upwards to collect each drop to taste it, a sickly smile coming to his face afterwards; Bateman clearly looked after himself despite living in a cave, he was fairly clean and he had no signs of dirt on himself, he wasn’t living in his own feces and urine, he was washed, he had been wearing a Gucci suit when Scully and Mulder had gotten to him - it was a red suit, the trousers and the blazer a fitting crimson bloodshed red, a white shirt that had been ironed recently but was splattered in little droplets of blood, some of which were smeared from lick marks, a black tie that had also been splattered in bright red blood that became dull when Bateman licked at it like a thirsty dog, even his leather black shoes were covered in blood yet had not a single mark upon them, not so much as a scuff-mark from kicking a curb. How had he looked as if he was attending the Met Gala when he was wearing an expensive and tailored suit from such an expensive maker? It was confusing, that much was for sure, that much went without a single doubt. But no matter what they did, the four companions could not shake the image from their heads; Frohike thought of the blood stains that lay on the white shirt; Langly thought of the droplets of blood on skin; Jimmy could not shake the cold stare; Byers could not shake the picture of those dead eyes, nor could he shake what Mulder had told him - that Bateman had licked blood from the suit, consumed it, that Bateman had poked his tongue out to capture little droplets that streamed down his own skin. It made Byers shiver and recoil with disgust as he packed his things into his suitcase; he wasn’t expecting that they would be gone for long, a few days at most perhaps, and even then, he was sure that there was a place where he would be able to wash and iron his clothes if they did need to stay for an extra day or two or three or several. He was sure of it. Small towns always did have a laundromat or something along those lines where it was only a few pence to whack the machine on, a few hours later and he would have an entirely fresh and clean suit - as long as he could wash and dry them, he was not all that worried about underpacking. But god, those dead eyes, he felt as if they were watching him as he made his rounds to ensure that his companions were all packed and ready to go; he checked the van, double checking to ensure that they had everything that they would need and probably more, he checked that every single bit of equipment was accounted for he checked that every single scrap of paper and ink was there and then double checked again, he checked that everything was in working order or at least worked even just a little bit, then he doubled checked it to make sure that it was just about clinging onto a scrap of hope, a scrap of life. He checked the glovebox in the front, making sure that all the snacks he had put in there mere hours earlier, perhaps only two or three hours, were still in there and had not been stolen just yet, then he doubled checked to make sure that he had something for everyone - Jimmy’s gummy bears, Langly’s sour patch kids, Frohike’s jerky, his own little tub of chopped up vegetables that he kept with a small ice pack to ensure it stayed cold and would not go all warm and sickly during the journey ahead. Byers then checked the bottles of water he kept in a little hidey hole in the carpet on the passenger side, which he had stocked with portable ice coolers, he made sure that every bottle was topped up and ready to go, he even tried to make sure that they all had the same amount although he was not entirely sure that they were despite the fact that they very much looked it, but he had nor the time or patience to measure them out exactly to ensure that they were all the same to the very millilitre, to the very last droplet. 

“I’m ready,” Frohike shrugged, hauling his bag into the back of the van somewhat carelessly and recklessly, a little bit careful not to damage the equipment even though he knew that most of it was very much past its death date and was on its way out and needing to be replaced, fixed so many times that they were more duct tape than anything else. He paused when he saw Byers staring into nothingness, into space, a grave expression on his face. “Byers?” 

“Frohike,” Byers could not help but to let out a quiet and soft gasp, completely forgetting where his head was for a moment as he sighed heavily and cleared his throat, straightening out his suit and offering a false and forced smile that he tried to make out to be reassuring, although even a bat could have seen through his disguise. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Frohike nodded, frowning a little as he looked his friend over, worried that something had happened in the mere thirsty minutes that he had been on his own, he lifted a hand up to his friend, pressing the palm against the bicep, Frohike let out a sigh. “Are you sure you’re okay, Byers?”

Byers nodded, sucking in a breath to try and steel those nerves of his that were so completely shot and destroyed, he really did hope that that feeling would soon fade, he really did hope that those dead eyes would cease to haunt him sooner rather than later; it made him shiver as he recoiled and thought about how Bateman was probably loving his life. Byers had only ever been to prison once, and to say that he held no fond memories of it was not quite an understatement - he had hated it, he had hated every single second, but someone like Bateman, someone so dead behind the eyes and powerful as to leave claw and teeth marks, to nearly behead someone with a bite or two… was definitely not someone to taunt and mock. The mere thought of how many victims Bateman could have had during his stay at the big house sent a shiver down Byers’ spine as he shook his head and tried to not let fear take too much of a hold of himself. “Yeah, n- no, I’m okay! I’m okay.” 

Frohike could tell that his friend, although from time to time he did suppose that they were more like brothers than anything else, was lying, Frohike knew with just a single look that Byers was lying to his face, and he knew why, of course he knew why; Byers always tried to make himself seem to be tougher than he actually was, and of course Frohike remembered Byers’ act of courage when he stood, unflinching, standing up to a poacher when there was a knife pointed to his face and threatening to carve his features. Frohike knew when Byers was scared, when he was anxious, and as he looked over his companion, he knew that that was exactly what he was feeling; and sure, it killed, it very much hurt to think that his friend was absolutely terrified, which was why Frohike shook his head and smiled, tight-lipped and attempting to be reassuring as he cleared his throat. “Why don’t I drive for the first while? You can catch some sleep with the guys in the back.” 

Byers managed to smile, a little sad as he nodded and mouthed a thank you at his friend, his brother, his companion, he did sometimes think that the Lone Gunmen was more than just a bunch of conspiracy theorists, he did sometimes catch himself referring to Frohike and Langly and Jimmy as his siblings; but even still, he was scared beyond belief. Those dead hazel eyes were watching him, burning into the back of his skull, he could have sworn he felt something ripping his stomach, claws and teeth on his back and his stomach and his neck; good lord, did he want that sensation to end, he just wanted to get the article done, was that too much to ask? Was it too much to ask that he could get the article, get it printed, and get it sold by Friday? Rubbing his forehead with his fingertips, Byers growled lowly, shaking his head, so close to crying, so close to whining. “T- thanks, Frohike… but I’m good, I can drive for the first few hours, I just…” shrugging, Byers frowned a little, following it with a heavy sigh and a roaring yawn. “I just got too much on my mind right now, is all, I’ll be fine once we hit the road.” 

“Yeah, no, that’s not happening,” Frohike shook his head, staring up at Byers with a stern expression, the kind an older sibling would give to the youngest in order to silence them and stop them from telling their father about what their older sibling had done, it was the kind of stern expression that one either completely disregarded or obeyed - there was no inbetween with it, there was no middle ground. “You’re taking a good long nap. I’ll drive - where’s the keys?” 

Reluctantly, Byers obeyed, handing over the keys with a sigh and feeling a slight, small, almost insignificant but just enough for it to be liberating, burden come away from his shoulders and allowing him to stand a little bit more upright, his posture fixing just a bit as he frowned and nodded. “Do you promise to wake me when it’s my turn to drive, at least?” 

Frohike shrugged, shooting Byers a smile as he fiddled with the cold metal keys in his hand, they almost stuck to his skin and burned his fingertips, but he didn’t mind it all too much, it was just one of those things; by the seeming of it, Langly and Jimmy were still packing, or they were arguing and bickering while they were packing in the way that younger siblings taunted and mocked and argued and bickered with one another while the older siblings were away or weren’t paying much attention to them, when they knew that they could get away with it. It made Frohike smile as he cleared his throat and tugged at the lapels of his leather jacket, he was certainly going to be glad if they got out of the cold. “Could you make sure that they’re not killing each other in there, Byers?” 

The gunmen had successfully managed to get to the town after spending hours finding it, not to mention struggling to siphon petrol from various cars along the way, having to use Byers’ suggestion of siphoning a little from each car rather than enough from just one car; but they had made it, and they were a bit confused as to why the town was referred to as not being on the map - it was certainly big enough to be a city, hustling and bustling with busybodies and business people wearing suits and ties along with plenty of local businesses along the streets, although they were mostly small businesses and not massive brands such as McDonald’s and Lacoste and Chanel, they were all run by locals, seemingly. But it was a dirty place, cigarette ends littered the dirty pavement and the gutters, stains of bird feces stained the streets, empty wrappers from food joints and from various different shops were strewn upon the ground as if nobody had ever heard of a bin, let alone been taught to use one, soggy and mashed up old newspapers carpeted damp pavements and stuck to the shoes when trod upon, it was far from a place where the streets were made of gold and silver. But the graffiti upon the buildings were beautiful, ravens and crows painted spectacularly upon crumbling brick, robotic scenes of peace and unity and harmony sprayed so gorgeously upon breaking walls, yes, while the streets may not have been a sight that any of them wanted to remember, the graffiti was certainly amazing, the graffiti was stunning; there was a patch of greenery at what seemed to be the local university, and when the men looked around it, looked around the bright green and neatly trimmed grass that was bordered by bright plants with different coloured petals in white marble plant pots, they noticed something on the flag pole: a rainbow flag, the flag of pride, the pride flag. It made all four of them smile as they looked at it flying high and proud. It was the only flag flying, and it was clearly cleaned at least once a day as the colours were vibrant and bright. The university itself wasn’t that grand, though, it was certainly an old structure, and there were a few statues dotted about here and there, but it wasn’t that impressive, so the men continued to look around a little bit; the people within the town weren’t exactly friendly, most of them giving the four companions dirty looks and scoffing at them, lifting their heads up as they walked on by, looking down at the ‘outsiders’. They didn’t exactly feel very welcome in such a place, but who could blame them? 

On the corner of one street, stood three men, gathered around smoking cigarettes and laughing. 

“Oi, nah, ‘cause I told you that I ain’t goin’ back in there,” one chuckled. “Did you see how pissed they was last time?” 

The friend to his left smiled. “Leave it out, it ain’t like you go in there all the time, I bet the bouncer don’t even recognise you, mate.” 

“How much you bettin’?” The third man asked with a raised brow. 

The second shrugged, tossing his cigarette onto the damp pavement and snuffing it out with the toe of his shoe. “Dunno… fiver?” 

“I ain’t fuckin’ goin’ back in there, Alex,” the first grumbled. 

Alex, the second man, licked his lips and checked his watch. “Well, ain’t like I could go with you if you was, Jess, I gotta get home - Jord, you walkin’ home with me?” 

The third man nodded, checking his own watch. “Yeah, might as well, we’re walkin’ the same way, anyways.” 

The two walked away, leaving Alex and his final friend, who spoke up with a, “don’t think you should go back in there, anyways, Jesse. They kicked me out for usin’ the bloke’s toilet.” 

“That ain’t never right,” Jesse shook his head. “You’re a bloke, Bill, why do they give a shit about what’s in your trousers?” 

Billy tugged at the front of his shirt, sighing heavily. “Dunno, ‘cause they’re cunts?” 

Jesse chuckled a little, nodding. “Yeah, that’s about right.” He frowned, though, tugging at his lip with his teeth. “When’s your next testosterone shot? ‘Cause I might be able to drive you.” 

Byers and Langly shared a look, smiling a little to themselves as they walked on by with Frohike and Jimmy; it was nice to have heard that, as they had just about given up on the town and what was going on with it, but that saved it. So, they continued to walk, they continued to explore the place a bit more, checking out local businesses; there was a shop that sold glass items that looked quite nice, but the prices were certainly quite high; the cafes there were not exactly large and luxurious, either, mostly just simple coffee shops that overcharged for a latte. Langly looked most interested when they passed by a comic book shop, perking up a little when they saw that the shop had had a music section, and they were almost tempted to ask to go in, but they knew that there was no time for it at present, maybe later, they thought, maybe later they would ask to go in and to take a look around. Jimmy was interested in the clubs, how they pounded with music and bright lights that flashed and strobed, he was very interested in going into one and checking it out, but he knew that that could wait, he knew that, if anything, he would go in after the article was finished, but he was also fair more interested when they walked past a few football fields, perking up at the sight of the goal net at one end and the other, the white and black ball that sat in the middle of the pitch. Frohike, meanwhile, made a note to check out the local synagogue when they passed by it; it was very well kept, a beautiful building that thankfully had no graffiti on it, it made him smile as he walked on by it, he didn’t have to tell the other guys about it, although he knew that they would have been happy to let him go if they asked, he just thought it could wait for now. Byers didn’t really spot anything that took his interested, sure, there were a few shops that were very unique and charming - like the sweet shop run by the jolly woman who stood outside waving and smiling as she offered homemade plant-based sweets to everyone, Byers did take one, thanking her quietly as he walked away, unwrapping the sweet and popping it into his mouth. It was very sweet, too sweet, far too sweet for his tastes, but he still did not have the heart to spit it out into the nearest bin. It had been like eating granulated sugar straight from the bag. But nothing, none of the shops or the cafes or the restaurants or clubs or pubs made him stop in his tracks and think about asking his companions if they could go in at some point, probably once the article had finished, nothing particularly took his interest that much. The sudden smell of someone smoking a joint made him cough as he grumbled. 

“Good lord!”

“What?” Langly turned to Byers with their brows furrowed, tilting their head to the side slightly. 

“You okay, Byers?” Frohike asked, patting his friend on the back firmly. 

But then Jimmy and Langly noticed the smell, too, and Langly smiled as they looked back at Byers. “Dude, it’s just weed.”

“It’s so strong!” Byers whined, shaking his head. “And who smokes the devil’s lettuce at this time of day, anyway?”

Langly and Jimmy shrugged, with Jimmy daring to speak up as he patted Byers on the shoulder and offered a sympathetic smile. “Maybe we should go back to the van.”

“Yeah, before someone narcs,” Langly teased, nudging Byers in the ribs as they fell into step beside their friend, but the comment only made Byers roll his eyes, trying not to laugh a little as he lead the group through the confusing and winding streets. Up the hills and down them, past the synagogue, past the shops that they had originally walked past when they first arrived, past the university, although they did take another quick look at the pride flag that was flying high, past everything else, until they eventually made it back to their little mystery machine of sorts; Byers climbed into the driver’s seat, Frohike got into the passenger side, and Langly and Jimmy got into the back. 

“So, what do we do, now?” Frohike asked, turning slightly so that he could look at Jimmy and Langly as well as Byers without having to constantly move. 

Jimmy shrugged, a little optimistic. “Maybe we could go to one of the pubs - they had a lot out there, it might be worth taking a look?” 

Langly shook their head, sighing as they pulled out their computer and clicked their knuckles. “No one’s gonna be in a pub this time of day.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Byers replied, “after all, there was that person smoking the devil’s lettuce, so… but that’s besides the point, this is a big place. We’re never gonna be able to speak to enough people as a group.” 

“So what do you suggest?” Frohike questioned, raising a brow. 

Byers scratched at his beard, the little bit of grey on the chin. “Maybe we should split up.” 

“Split up?” Langly scoffed. “This isn’t Scooby-Doo.” 

Byers chuckled softly at the comment, which he knew that Langly had purposefully made just to make him laugh. To lighten the mood. “Well, that is unless any of you have a better idea.” 

None of them had a better idea, in fact, none of them even had a worse idea, they had no clue where they were going, they didn’t know how to conduct interviews about something like that, what they were supposed to do? Going around as a group would mean that interviews took much longer than they would if they did split up, as for a town, it was very large, and it had quite a big population, meaning that interviews as a group would be harder and that the whole process would take longer so it was going to be unlikely that they would be able to get their article out in time if they did. It was tough to think of what to do, let alone to decide between what few options there were, it was tough to think of how they could conduct interviews whilst also being able to ensure that they had the right information and weren’t wasting their time; the more each of the four companions thought, the more they did realise that splitting up probably would have made things a lot easier, and would be the better way of doing things and of conducting their business. Splitting up would have definitely been better for the article, but they did somewhat worry that they would have a tough time navigating the area, getting lost seemed less like a likelihood and more like a certainty, an absolute certainty that at one point of them was going to get lost amongst the absolute concrete jungle that they were having to find their way around; of course, they were very much used to cities, they lived in one for a start, but this one was… it was different, it wasn’t at all like home in the slightest, and they were extremely confused as to how to navigate it - the winding paths that lead about thirty different ways, the various alleyways that seemed to lead somewhere but would only end in a carpark or two, the paths that went in a complete circle but would only ever lead somewhere completely different as if it was a magic portal to another new street or a different place entirely. It was an odd place to try and navigate, and they did wish that there was some way that they could conduct every interview together, but they knew that that was impossible. 

“Alright,” Langly sighed, nodding as they shifted into a more comfortable position than crossing their legs beneath them, always finding that that position made their ankles and feet go numb until they stood up and felt the weird sort of painful feeling that could only be described as a needle sharp static in their flesh. “I don’t see any other way we can do this.” 

“Neither can I,” Frohike admitted with a shrug, clearing his throat as he looked at his three companions. “Jimmy, you got anything?” 

Jimmy shook his head, scratching his temple for a moment before letting out a grumble and furrowing his brows. “Maybe… no, that would never work.” 

“What?” Langly looked over at Jimmy with a confused expression on their face, lips almost turned into a frown but not quite. “C’mon, man, say it.” 

Jimmy shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and letting out a soft chuckle, a little embarrassed of his own idea if he was honest. “Maybe we could just… spend more time on it, y’know, make it a… a special issue.” 

His three companions shook their heads, it would have been a good plan, except they did not have the funds nor the readership to do a special issue of The Lone Gunmen newspaper, and nor did they have the borrowed time, either. So they knew that they could not do such a thing, as much as they would have liked to do so, and while it did stir a certain kind of feeling of disappointment, they knew that there were more pressing matters at hand, and they knew that the more time that they spent bickering and arguing and being indecisive, the less time that they would have to actually write the article and to get it done and ready to print for Monday. 

“We can’t, Jimmy,” Byers sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair and grumbling slightly as he dared to break the bad news, “as much as it would be a good idea, we don’t have the money for it. And we don’t have enough readers, either. We… we’re struggling to get by enough already and to tell people the truth, as it is. We can’t afford to lose any readership, right now, and if we… if we did take more time, I don’t… I don’t think we could do it.” 

“So we’re splitting up,” Frohike nodded curtly, in agreement with his friend at last. 

“Looks like it,” Langly started to type away at their computer. 

“Frohike, I think you should start by checking out one of the local bars we saw,” Byers started, “see if you can find anything out from someone there. Langly, I think I saw a bar that plays rock and metal, maybe you could try there, maybe speak to a bartender, or, or something?” 

“What about me?” Jimmy asked, raising a brow and looking up at Byers with wide eyes. 

“Uh, maybe you should check out one of the coffee shops we saw,” Byers answered, “y’know, hang around and see if you can’t find something out from there.” 

“And what about you?” Frohike asked, looking at his friend with furrowed brows. 

Byers scratched the back of his neck, unsure of how to answer, having never really thought about what he would do, he was always behind the scenes and usually only ever took control when they needed to talk to people as a group. “Uh… well, uh, I’ll probably just go here and there and, y’know, see if I can’t find someone who can tell us something.” 


	2. Chapter 2

The Gunmen had found a place to stay that night, nowhere impressive or brilliant, just a local motel that allowed them to use the car park while they rented a room with three beds just for a few nights, managing to scrape together just about enough cash to pay for their accommodation for the time being, but they knew that the next long while would mean that they would be scraping by to pay for the things they needed; but even still, they did split up in the morning, and true to Byers’ plan, Frohike went to the local bar. He sat at the bar on a stool, the quiet music fading into the background as he signalled to the bartender to come over; she was quite tall, thick black curly hair, dark brown eyes that looked black in the dim lights of the bar, she was wearing a baggy t-shirt that looked like it was a dark red colour with the logo of the bar on the left side of the torso, she wore a golden bracelet on her right wrist that matched with the golden ring on her left hand, on the finger between her middle and pinky. She smiled kindly as she approached Frohike. 

“Hey,” she gave him a curt nod as she leaned against the bar, tossing a white and red checkered cloth over her shoulder. “What can I get you?” 

“Oh, uh, just a soda, thanks,” Frohike answered, shooting a smile her way as he shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it on the back of his stool. 

“Sure thing,” the bartender answered, fixing his drink within seconds and gently sliding it across the lacquered and waxed and polish bar to him, she scratched the side of her nose with her right hand, the light hitting it just right so that the wound on the back of it was visible. 

Frowning, Frohike gestured to her hand, his voice curious and sympathetic as he dared to ask, “can I ask what happened?” 

The bartender shrugged, licking her lips as she looked around. “Nothing, not really, I just burnt it whilst making something in the kitchen the other night, it’s no big deal, really.” 

“Oh, right,” he nodded slowly at the answer, doubting its truth but not knowing what else it could have been, he could not even begin to speculate it if he was honest. “I’m Melvin Frohike, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” she replied softly, but genuinely. “I’m Lucy. Most folks just call me Luce, though.”

“Lucy,” Frohike noted, staining the name into his mind so that he would not forget later, so that by the time he was finished and had gone back to the motel room it was still stained and burned and firmly in his mind, Lucy the Bartender, he kept telling himself. “I’m sure this is a weird question, but I’m an investigative reporter working for The Lone Gunman newspaper, and-” 

“This is about the murders, isn’t it?” Lucy guessed before he could even finish his question, but she didn’t look frustrated, she didn’t look angry or as if she had heard it several times already that day, and she kept her kind demeanor as she shifted to lean on her forearms rather than her hands. Her biceps gave away the fact that she definitely worked out. 

“How did you know?” Frohike asked with a curious look, a curious raise of the brow and hum from the back of his throat. 

“Couple people have been in here before you, baby,” Lucy chuckled softly, shaking her head as she bit at her lower lip. “Not many, just a few that wanted to know the usual stuff, y’know? Who, what, when, where, why, how, all of that shit… weren’t many, I’ll grant you that, but there were a few. Think one feller was from a big newspaper, and even then, he said it wasn't all that important if I didn’t have enough information for him - said that celebrity gossip was gonna take the front page and the murders… well, they’d be a footnote.” 

Taking a sip from his drink, Frohike nodded slowly. “That’s not right, people deserve to know the truth about this.” 

“Maybe they do,” she shrugged, fixing herself a glass of whisky on the rocks. “But who’s gonna report it?” 

“We do,” he replied, “well, I mean, The Lone Gunman newspaper does.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you do, baby,” she smiled at him, charming and warm and kind; she spoke with the kind of voice that brought back memories of freshly baked cakes, warm beds in cold winters, the smell of sugar and honey and sweet songs being sung by the fire during the hours of moonlight. “So, what do you wanna know?”

“The killer,” he began, “one Mister Charlie Bateman.” 

“Oh, Char,” Lucy nodded, humming lowly as she took a quick look around the pub, making sure that nobody was around before she swallowed thickly, her hands shaking a little as she brought her glass of whisky to her lips and took a long swig. “Yeah, I know him - or, or, I used to. My, uh, a friend of mine knows him, and I used to, y’know, we used to hang out together from time to time.” 

“What was he like?” Asked Frohike. 

“Bit weird, if I’m honest,” she admitted. “He was always making comments towards the girls when (y/n), my friend, when he wasn’t around, Char would always make these really gross comments around us - and obviously we never told (y/n) that.” 

“Why not?” He questioned, humming lowly again. 

“We were scared of Charlie,” Lucy sighed. “We know that if we told (y/n), he would probably kill Charlie, and if Charlie found out that we said anything… he’d kill us.” 

“So, he wasn’t a good guy?” Frohike pressed. “You, you don’t have to talk about this, Lucy, not if you don’t want to.” 

“I want to,” she told him with a shake of her head. “I mean, those agents - what was it? Shelly and Mould? I dunno, but they caught him, right? They caught Charlie, so I don’t… there’s nothing to fear from him.” 

“Scully and Mulder, I believe their names are,” Frohike didn’t want Lucy to know that he knew the two agents well, that they were friends of his, as he did fear that such information would make her change her answers. “According to my research time.” 

“Right, yeah,” Lucy nodded, clicking her tongue. “Well, they caught Charlie, right?” 

“They caught him,” he nodded, confirming it. “But you don’t have to tell me unless if you want to, Lucy.” 

“Oh, I want to, it’s about time someone knew what Charlie was really like,” she shrugged. “I mean, all that bullshit about how nobody suspected it? About how he was such a great guy and he was an outstanding member of the community? Bullshit. Every single word. The guy was a fucking asshole,” she paused to fix herself another drink, “he was a fucking asshole, and I hope he rots. I hope he fucking rots, and I hope it’s a slow and humiliating and painful rotting, at that.” In the dim light of the pub, though, she noticed the star of David necklace that Frohike was wearing, and she smiled at him so kindly. “Y’know, this town can get pretty confusing, but if you wanna go to the synagogue after this, you go out onto the road we’re on now, and you just keep walking until you get to another pub called The Fox - it’s got a massive sign, you won’t miss it - but from there, you cross the road and walk down it and it’s right there. But I should warn you, Rabbi Marc? He’s huge on hugging.” 

“Oh, uh,” a little stunned, Frohike tried to commit the directions to memory. “Thank you.” 

“It’s no problem,” she shrugged, taking another sip from her glass. “I can always walk you there if you’re still not quite sure, though.” 

He shook his head, smiling a little nervously at her. “It’s fine, thank you… but, about Charlie - you say that he, uh, he wasn’t a great guy, is there any more you want to tell me about that?” 

“Oh, loads, baby,” Lucy chuckled, shaking her head. “Charlie was a grade-A asshole, anything you hear about him from the media is bullshit, alright? He wasn’t charming at all, he was scary at times and just… he had this dead look in his eyes all the time, this awful dead look in his eyes that made everyone pretty uncomfortable to be around him - course, (y/n) never knew about it, nobody would dare tell him. Charlie was a piece of shit, he was just… he was an awful person, and honestly? It didn’t really come as a surprise - the guy was into some weird shit. Like, we all have our kinks, but his just… went beyond, y’know? I mean, he looked presentable and he dressed well, but he used to wash his hands twenty times a day, he brushed his teeth after everything he ate, he would work out for at least five hours a day. He went too far with that kinda stuff. He always looked like he was going to the Met Gala, which we all found unsettling, it was like he was overcompensating for something… and he never came out during the day, either.” 

“He was nocturnal?” Frohike pressed with a raised brow. 

Lucy nodded, finishing her glass and setting it down at last, as if she had gained the liquid courage she needed for what she was saying. “Yeah, I guess. We never saw him before the sun went down. We did tell (y/n) that, but he never saw a problem with it - which, y’know, why would you? I mean, we all know people that go out partying all out and then sleep all day. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen Charlie do so much as nod his head or smile when a song came on. There were times, y’know, where I wanted to punch his lights out, where I really did think about it - but I was scared of him, I was genuinely so scared of Charlie. I thought about telling someone, (y/n) especially, about it but then I always used to panic that, y’know, if Charlie somehow found out about it, he’d kill me. I always thought he would kill me if I opened my mouth. (Y/N)’s a good guy, I won’t lie, I mean, I don’t know where the fuck is now, nobody does not really, he just kinda disappeared, but I mean it when I say that he’s a good man and I know he would’ve put Charlie six feet under if I told him so much as half of what I’m telling you, but it was my fault that I didn’t - I couldn’t, I wasn’t-” 

“None of this was your fault,” Frohike interrupted gently, daring to place a hand on her wrist as he smiled weakly. “I need you to know that, Lucy, none of it was your fault. You’re being really brave by talking to me about this, right now, and I’m thankful you’re opening up to me.” 

Lucy scoffed, sighing heavily as she bit at her lip and tugged at the soft skin in order to peel it away, making it bleed weakly. In her dark brown eyes were pools of clear rainwater, threatening to spill as she dared to sniffle, her heart beating a million miles per hour, her hands shaking as she thought about everything, as she finally dared to properly open up to someone. “Thank you.” 

“You’re safe now,” he reassured her, giving her wrist a bit of a squeeze and daring to smile kindly, sympathetically. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?” 

“I think… think that’s it,” she admitted with a soft sniffle, nodding. “Yeah, no, that’s… that’s all of it.” 

“Okay,” retracting his hand, Frohike reached into his pocket, and pulled out a little white card, he pressed it into Lucy’s hand as he offered her a gentle look. “If you want to talk about anything else, just call me, okay? My associates and I are staying at the local motel, so you can reach us there, okay?” 

“Thank you,” she tucked it beneath her shirt before swallowing thickly and letting out a shaky breath. “Don’t worry about the drink, it’s on the house.” 

“Thanks,” he said sincerely, tugging on his leather jacket once more. “You take care of yourself, Lucy.” 

“And you, Mister Frohike.” 

With a short wave a soft smile, Frohike left the bar and began to walk back to the motel; it was raining heavily, pouring and gushing it down as if someone had upset whoever controlled the weather, as if someone upstairs was sobbing and crying into the earth, the pavements were slick and the gutters were filled with deep puddles of a brown-ish grey murky colour, carrying cigarette ends and leaves down and down and down and out of sight. The skies were not blue, but charcoal in colour thanks to the thick clouds that prevented the sky from showing up properly, a thick curtain drawn over the town to shroud it in darkness and depression. Melancholy and woe. Cars had their headlights on, blindingly bright yellow and white flashes that went by whenever they sped through, battered by the rain and throwing the puddles upwards and onto the streets, more than one businessman in a suit was splashed and cursed the driver. 

“Oi, mate! Fuck you! You fuckin’ stupid bastard!” was a common phrase, apparently. 

Frohike kept walking, thanking Hasham that he did not get splashed by the oncoming cars - going back to the motel soaked to the bone was not exactly his ideal situation, thinking about everything that Lucy had told him back at the bar, how scared she had been, it made him frown as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked along the lonely crowded pavement; but when he got back to the motel room, all he could do was to sit at his computer and write out what Lucy had told him - Byers and Langly and Jimmy all tried to ask him if something was wrong, but he couldn’t tell them. He couldn’t bring himself to tell them what he had been told, but he was without a doubt thankful that Bateman was definitely no longer a part of society and could not hurt anyone else, he was definitely thankful that Bateman would no longer be able to hurt other people the way that he had hurt Lucy; but even still, as he typed away on his computer, one thing kept coming to mind, a single name that she had mentioned to him more than once, a single name that was, for some reason, playing on his mind. (Y/N). Who was he? She had mentioned that he was a mutual friend. But who was he? Did he have information that no one else had had? Did he know something about Charlie Bateman that had yet to come to light? Who was this (y/n) and why had Lucy mentioned him so much during her little talk with Frohike? 

The metal club was dead, to put it lightly, it was almost completely empty except for the few staff members that wandered about to clean and tidy things up, but it was very much obvious that it would soon be heaving with people when the sun dropped and the metalheads and the punks and the goths came out to play and to party, drawn to the club like it was a champagne chandelier in a grand ballroom, they would soon come to pack the club from wall to wall, they would soon drain the club of its various drinks, whether alcoholic or not, everything would be very much drank and the club would certainly get its revenue in without a doubt, and almost certainly by the time it closed, too; but as Langly pulled up a chair to sit at the bar, they took a look around the place - it was very well lit, glowing in blue neon lights and silver LED ones that were attached to the ceiling, the mahogany floors were well kept and cleaned, the bar was a matching mahogany colour and clearly polished and lacquered and waxed to perfection, clearly whoever ran the club cared about its appearance. Out of the corner of their eye, Langly spotted a man walking towards him; he was somewhere between the height of Byers and Frohike, black curly hair that was pushed up so it looked more like a pompadour style, he had green eyes and sleeve tattoos, his nose and his lip were pierced, and he had a cigarette-sized stretcher in his ear, which was lucky for the cigarette tucked into it; the man approached Langly, looking them up and down for a second before raising a brow. 

“What do you want?” He asked, squaring his shoulders. 

“I’m a journalist,” Langly replied with a shrug. 

The man raised a brow, scoffing and folding his arms across his chest. “So? The fuck’d you want?” 

Langly swallowed thickly before they let out a little sigh, running their fingers through their hair. “Just to ask you a few questions - I’m Langly.” 

“Karl.” He replied, moving to stand behind the bar so that he could fix himself a drink; it was a stone sour cocktail, and in such an establishment, was not surprising considering the fact that, behind Karl, on the wall, was a framed Stone Sour album. “Drink?”

“Do you know how to make an Adios Motherfucker?” Langly asked with a raised brow, not expecting Karl to agree and to turn around and, with ease and speed, make the drink before giving it to them. “Thanks.” 

“So,” Karl cleared his throat, frowning a little as he glared at Langly, not really liking the fact that some reporter had come snooping around - last time it was those idiots from the paper that wanted to say that the club was really a Satanic cult. “The fuck do you want? Why you comin’ ‘round here askin’ bare questions?”

Langly shifted in their seat, licking their lips as they thought of how to say it, how to explain that they just wanted to ask a few questions about the murders and possibly also Charlie Bateman, they wished, for a long and good moment, that Byers was there - he was always good with questioning people politely, and Langly, as much as they had to in that moment, was far from being able to do that. “I, uh, I just wanted to ask about the murders that occurred here - the ones done by-”

“Charlie, I know,” Karl sighed, wiping down the bar with a rag produced from his back pocket, it was dark purple in colour, and he sighed as he moved the rag around in circular motions. “Awful business, that.” 

“Do you happen to know anything?” Langly asked. 

“Why would I tell you if I did?” Karl shot back with a slight snarl to his voice, his green eyes flashing with something angry and something that was definitely not to be fucked with, something dangerous. 

Langly took a swig from their drink, doing their best not to frown as they tugged at the front of their shirt and spread their legs slightly so that they were more comfortable on the leather barstool. “Because people deserve to know the truth, man.” 

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit,” Karl chuckled, shaking his head as he tossed the rag over his shoulder. “‘Cause I ain’t bein’ funny, mate, but you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, right now.” 

“So where do I find the right tree?” Langly questioned as they dared to raise a brow. 

Taking a quick look around, Karl wiped three of his fingers across his forehead, his thumb sticking to his temple as he dared to close his eyes and sigh heavily; he had not slept for days, he was pretty sure he had not slept since Bateman’s arrest, kept up by the thought that he would be hunted down by that killer, wide awake at night pressed into a corner and holding a knife. No, Karl had not slept a wink. He was exhausted, and talking about things only made it worse. “Go ask (y/n), he probably knows a thing or two about the whole thing.” 

“Who’s (y/n)?” Asked Langly, they could tell that Karl had not slept, it was evident by the heavy bags beneath his eyes that seemed to weigh more than blocks of concrete and the slight staggering of his steps along with the way his eyes watered as he tried to stifle a yawn. Yes, Langly could quite easily see how exhausted Karl was, but that did not stop them from trying to push for an answer. 

At last, Karl let out a yawn, which was at a roaring volume, probably shaking the entire venue without anyone knowing, his mouth stretching open so wide that it looked like his jaw would break, teeth bared in a snarl of exhaustion for a moment, his hands gripping tightly onto the edge of the bar as he let out the first yawn. “He’s a friend of mine, also a friend of the woman that owns a pub down the road, The Flyer, Lucy, and he knows the barista at the coffee shop, Megan - we all know each other, go way back. But (y/n) used to know Charlie. Used to hang out. He’s probably sittin’ on bare information right now.” 

“Uh-huh,” Langly nodded slowly, “and where would I find him?”

Karl let out a laugh, which was really more like a howl, tilting his head back like he was looking at the moon, his shoulders moving in time with his barking, his snarling laughs that were much louder than the yawn, he could not believe he had heard such a thing; it was hilarious to him, but it was confusing to Langly. When the laughter died down, though, he shook his head. “No one’s seen (y/n) in ages, mate. He fucked off a while ago, no one’s seen him since. Lotta people say he skipped the country, married rich, and fucked off for good… but that ain’t (y/n) - he’s probably livin’ in town, still, but he’s clever.” 

“Clever?” Langly mused. 

“Clever,” Karl confirmed. “Street smart, y’know, he’s fuckin’ smart as shit, could fool anyone pretty easily, especially when it comes to stuff like makin’ people think he ain’t here when he fuckin’ is.” 

“Right,” Langly nodded. “And what? You think he had something to do with the murders?”

“Oh, fuck no!” Karl scoffed, shaking his head and biting back a laugh at the mere thought. “Y’see, (y/n)’s the kinda guy that’ll fuck you up for bein’ disrespectful, he’s the kinda guy that would knock your two fuckin’ teeth out just for bein’ a little bit of a twat. But he ain’t a killer, not like that, at least.” 

“So, he wasn’t Bateman’s accomplice?” Langly questioned, growing more and more confused by the second; how the fuck were they going to write this down? 

“Fuck no! He found out that Char was bein’ creepy towards a few friends of ours, and me and Ben and Tucker all had to fuckin’ stop him from killin’ the cunt,” Karl laughed, shaking his head and sighing with a deep regret. “Shouldn’t’ve held the fucker back, really, we should’ve let him kill him. Would’ve saved a lotta time and pain.” He drained his drink and got another one. “He were gonna kill Char, and it took the fuckin’ three of us to hold him back… we should’ve just let him go.” 

“Bateman’s in custody, though,” Langly pointed out, bringing their own glass to their lips and chugging their drink down. “And I don’t think he’ll ever be released.” 

“Ain’t ‘bout that, though,” Karl admitted. “‘Bout the fact that fuckin’ years before the murder, (y/n) wanted to kill him. And he would’ve, if me and Ben and Tuck didn’t all hold him back. But ain’t my place to tell you this, you should just go and see (y/n) for yourself, dude, talk to him yourself, ask him what happened and why - like I says, he and Charlie was close, til he found out that Charlie was disrespectin’ our mates. After that, (y/n) would’ve killed him if it weren’t for us lot.” 

Langly nodded slowly, taking another sip from their drink and letting the burn course down their throat, their hands shook slightly as they tried to piece it together. “And you say you don’t know where this guy, (y/n), you don’t know where he is?” 

Karl shook his head, licking his lips and scratching at a pimple behind his ear, very subtly starting to sway from side to side, nodding along when ‘Girlfriend’ by Avril Lavigne came on over the speakers, his demeanor changed as he let loose a little bit and hummed along to the song, which came through when he spoke, “pretty sure nobody knows where the fuck (y/n) ran off to, yeah. I mean, listen, you seem like an alright guy-” 

“I’m nonbinary, actually” Langly told him point blank. 

Nodding, Karl offered a smile as he held out his fist for Langly to bump it. “Right on! I can vibe with that… what pronouns do you use?” 

Langly was a bit stunned, outside of their inner circle of friends, nobody really ever asked such a question of them, and it took them a moment to answer, even if only to keep the smile from their face. “Uh, any, really, depends on the day… but usually they-them.” 

“One sec,” he ducked down behind the bar, for a moment the only thing that could be heard was the rattling and crashing metal as he rooted around, but when he came back up, he had a bunch of pins in his hands that he spread out on the bar. “Take whichever ones you want - we keep a stock of ‘em for anyone that wants ‘em.” 

Taking a look at the pins, Langly took one of each that was there, stuffing them into their pocket as they shot Karl a friendly smile. “Thanks, man.” 

“No problem,” Karl shrugged, nodding and smiling back. “As I was sayin’, though, you seem alright, and… well, I wouldn’t go lookin’ for (y/n) if I was you.” 

“Why not?” They raised a brow, frowning slightly as they looked at him. 

Karl bit at his lip, shaking his head for a moment before letting out a sad chuckle and bracing himself against the edge of the bar. “He’s smart, like, if you go lookin’ for him, he’s gonna know, and he’s gonna cause trouble if he don’t know you’re, y’know, a decent person, that you don’t wanna hurt him or one of us, one of his mates..” 

Langly pursed their lips as they thought for a moment, they dared to drain the rest of their glass before sighing heavily. “Sounds like a pretty loyal guy, why’d he ditch everyone?”

“Kept us all safe,” Karl said. “(y/n)’s a great guy, I’ll give him that, but he was into some shit that… well, let’s just say that there’s reasons he don’t want people sniffin’ ‘round. I think the last time I saw him was… fuck, way too long ago, mate, but if you’re on about findin’ out the truth ‘bout Charlie, ‘bout them murders, then… well, you ain’t got much of a choice ‘cause (y/n)’s your best bet. He’s the best one’a talk to about it all.” 

“If you think of anything, even the smallest little detail,” Langly grabbed the card from inside their pocket, sliding it across the bar to Karl as they dared to smile, ready to leave. “We’re staying at the local motel and you can call us there, or use the back of the card when we get back to our office.”

“Sure thing.” Karl agreed. “Stay safe, Langly.”

“Thanks.”

Langly left the metal club, fixing the “they-them” pin to the lapel of their jacket where everybody would see, a slight smile on their face as they walked down the streets; it was raining, heavily, and the cars that sped down the roads were causing large waves of water to uprise and be thrown at the pavement with such force that they almost wondered if the asphalt would crack and break. The cars all had headlights on, blinding neon yellow and white, making them wince and turn their gaze away whenever those cars sped by; their glasses were foggy and they could see the droplets upon the lenses, but they didn’t care too much about it. Langly had bigger things on their mind at present. Like figuring out who the mysterious (y/n) that Karl had mentioned was, and where to find him; Langly scratched the back of their head as they walked down the streets, following the directions to the motel that Byers had told them to use, they weren’t exactly sure what to do; they could hack into local accounts and search for the name, but without a last name to go with it, it seemed pointless, and they didn’t exactly like the idea of having to go back to the metal club and talk to Karl again. Sure, he had been nice, but Langly knew when people reached their limits with interviews, and Karl had almost certainly reached his own; deep down, though, Langly had hoped that Karl would get some sleep that night, he was so exhausted. Sighing heavily, Langly tried to think of what they could do, of how they could try and find out where (y/n) was, and who he was more importantly, why on earth was he hiding? Why would someone so seemingly loyal and protective of his friends suddenly disappear and leave them all behind? Something didn’t sit quite right, and Langly knew it, they knew it from the pit of their stomach up to their heart, they knew something didn’t sit quite right about it, about the information that Karl had given them, and when they got back to the motel, they weren’t really sure what to do - sure, they could hack into the local council’s database and they could try and find (y/n) from there, but it would be a tricky task considering the fact that they did not have a last night, and they didn’t really have anything identifiable to know if it was the right (y/n) they were looking at if they did go into the council’s records. It was a tough decision to make, a tough call that they were currently unsure of whether or not they wanted to make - it could harm the article, not to mention the paper in and of itself should the information be wrong, so there Langly sat, wondering what on earth they were supposed to do. 


	3. Chapter 3

The rain hammered against the large bay windows in and around the coffee shop, causing them to shriek with protest and to shake with each thundering blow, the rain splattering across the glass like blood on a countertop, the air was getting colder by the moment, and each time the door opened, the icy wind blew in with a chaotic howl; outside, cars has their headlights on, splashing pedestrians, splashing everyone from business people with heavy briefcases and backpacks to children walking home from school, rushing by in a yellow and white haze from those awfully bright lights at the front, and it made Jimmy thankful that he was cooped up in a coffee shop. It made him thankful that he was snug in a booth by the window with a cup of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and whipped cream, three packets of sugar having been put into the drink in the first place, his hands were so cold that each time he picked up the warm drink they burned, his skin rejecting the warmth in a painful ache; he could see the sky from his spot by the window, he could see how, despite it being the early afternoon, it was very much dark already, the clouds having cast the world over in a bleak and dark shade of charcoal, it made him shiver as he thought about how he would, unfortunately, have to walk home later on. But for now he was warm, and he was dry, he could watch the rain come and go for now; he could watch people walk by the windows with their umbrellas opened and the harsh droplets running off of the tips, he could watch people tug their hoods up and breath into their cupped hands in an effort to keep warm, he could watch the dogs that begged their masters to return home, tugging on leads in the opposite direction to howl a protest of yearning to go home, he could watch the cars rush by and splash every single last one of them with an awesome wave. Things were nice inside the coffee shop, though, the lights were slightly more dull than the normal ceiling lights, casting a warm glow throughout the shop, the smell of freshly roasted and made coffee clung to the air like a song that would not leave his head, it made him smile each time he caught a whiff of it, the slow and steady jazz music that played from the speakers within each corner made him tap his foot along as he dared to let out the occasional hum in tune with the music as best that he could, the radiator beside him, attached to the wall, made him dare to try and get slightly closer to it in order to steal of some of its warmth; there was next to no one in the coffee shop, which Jimmy did find a little odd, as he thought that such weather outside, such cold and dark and depressing and melancholic weather, would mean that more people want to go into such an establishment, but then he did think that maybe they all just wanted to get home as soon as they could. There was an elderly gentleman sat by the window on one of the long benches, he couldn’t have been much younger than around ninety, he had a cup of coffee in front of him, the steam rising slowly and causing a patch of fog to splatter on the window, he stared at a newspaper to his left, every so often letting out a growl of disapproval, shaking his head and muttering about how this generation was the worst and how nobody knew the meaning of this, that, and the other anymore, how technology was to blame for this, that, and the other, too; the old man grumbled and growled to himself as he read his paper and sipped his coffee, which Jimmy presumed contained no milk and certainly no sugar, which Jimmy presumed was as bitter as the man seemed to be. On the other side of the coffee shop, though, sat a young woman with long blonde hair down to about the middle of her back, she was reading a health magazine as she sipped at a throwaway cup of coffee, Jimmy watched her for a second, soon taking no notice of her when she jumped out of her seat and bolted out of the door when she saw an oncoming bus; looking out of the window, Jimmy saw her flag it down and get it to stop before she boarded, she looked breathless and he felt sorry for her, after all, she had left her magazine on the table and he could not chase her down to give it back, as when he noticed it, she was gone. He rubbed the back of his neck, taking a sip out of his own drink and moving to sit closer to the radiator, a sharp shiver running down his spine as if someone had opened up the flesh on his back and traced a cold knife down it, he couldn’t help but to moan softly with woe as he snuggled into the radiator and frowned, he was thankful to be warm, though, he was very much thankful that he was not outside in all of that rain and having to put up with the icy winds, he was very much glad of that, but he was still cold from how the woman had pushed open the door and allowed all of that arctic wind to enter the coffee shop; he was so desperate to get warm, but knew that it was fruitless and that he would almost certainly have to walk home in all of that awful weather soon, he knew that he would have to go through all of that weather, there was absolutely no doubt about that, but just was he was about to think himself the most unlucky person on the planet, the barista, carrying a coffee cup, approached his booth, and smiled kindly at him. She wasn’t short, nor was she tall, probably around average height, she had auburn hair that was styled into a bob that framed her round face perfectly, her grey eyes twinkled in the dull lights of the shop, making her look angelic, there was no doubt that she was a warm presence, and just by looking at her for a split second and seeing her smile, Jimmy felt his mood lift a little. 

“Mind if I sit with you?” She asked, tilting her head to the side. 

Jimmy nodded, daring to crack a smile as he gestured for her to sit opposite him. “If you want to, sure.” 

She thanked him as she set her cup down on the table and shivered, shaking her head and cupping her hands over her mouth, she let out a few harsh breaths, a few heavy sighs, before rubbing her hands together and chuckling softly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, it’s just that this is the only seat by the radiator, and I am frozen.” 

Jimmy dared to titter as he nodded, both in sympathy and empathy, as he knew all too well what she was talking about, so he dared to move a little bit away from the radiator and run a hand through his hair. “You didn’t interrupt anything, it’s okay.” 

“Megan,” she held out her hand, and when Jimmy shook it, she smiled oh so kindly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around these parts before.” 

“Jimmy,” he replied, “and, no, I… me and my friends are reporters, we’re looking into-”

“Oh, those horrible murders,” Megan sighed, having been questioned and interviewed by multiple people since the day the news had broken about the first murder and seemingly every day since, she rubbed the back of her neck, frowning and shaking her head. “Awful, awful business that was.” 

Shifting in his seat, Jimmy frowned and tilted his head, biting at the corner of his lip as he swallowed thickly. “I won’t ask you any questions if you don’t want me to.” 

“No, it’s okay,” she replied, shaking her head again, “honestly, Jimmy, ask away, hon.” 

He nodded slowly, thinking, trying to remember the questions that Byers had told him to ask, he thought about them quite hard before they finally came to mind, making him smile and grin in triumph before clearing his throat and trying to look serious, trying to look professional. He really wanted to make Langly and Frohike and Byers proud of him. “Did you know any of the victims?”

“No,” Megan shook her head, looking quite sad and as if it brought forth a painful and harsh reminder of reality, of what had happened those nights. “No, unfortunately I didn’t know any of them.” 

“What about the killer?” Jimmy asked. 

“Oh, I knew Charlie,” she answered, a fond smile coming to her face. “He was lovely! He was such a darling was Charlie… he always used to swing by in the morning and tell me how pretty I looked. He’d bring flowers on Valentine’s Day. Oh, Charlie was a darling, honestly. He was a wonderful guy. I mean, I don’t understand what Lucy’s problem with him was, he was always kind to me - he was always making comments about my body and how nice my skin was. He was a charming lad, was our Charlie. Surprised he was single, if I’m honest.” 

“How well did you know him?” Jimmy pressed, raising a brow. 

“Oh, very well,” Megan nodded. “He used to come over mine and he’d stay for the night, and y’know, he would bend me over the arm of the sofa and he would-” 

“Maybe less detail,” he chuckled nervously. 

“Oh, alright,” she chuckled. “Well, let’s just say that he had a thing for knives. And blood, thinking of it. It was only ever me chest, arms and back, though. Which I always thought were a bit weird, but he was so sweet afterwards. He was a gentle lad, was our Charlie. A nice, gentle, charming lad.” Letting out a shaky breath, Megan chuckled again, although this time it was sad, tainted by some kind of melancholic woe that could not particularly be described. “It came as quite a shock, to be honest. Finding out that it was Charlie who did those awful murders, I couldn’t believe it at first, I really couldn’t… he seemed like such a nice guy. He seemed so… so kind, so gentle, y’know? He seemed like the type of guy you’d take home to your parents for the holidays, the type of guy you would marry eventually.” She took a swig of her coffee before she continued, “but then I spoke to Lucy, and Karl, and Tucker, and Leah, and Amy, and told me what he was really like. They told me the truth about him.” 

“And what was the truth?” Jimmy took a swig from his drink, a little bit of whipped cream sticking to the very tip of his nose that he tried to lick off but could not quite reach. 

“He was horrible,” she replied, her voice breaking, “he was an awful, awful person. He were the scum of the earth. Charlie was, and still is, an asshole. They told me what he’d said to the girls, and that alone made my stomach clench and churn, y’know? I felt sick when they first told me. I really did, I felt sick to me stomach.” 

Jimmy nodded, wiping off the whipped cream with his napkin before leaning forward slightly and humming softly, he let out a sigh as he bit at the inside of his lower lip. “Megan… do you think that Charlie Bateman’s innocent?”

“He might be,” Megan admitted with a curt nod. “He might be innocent, I don’t think they got the right guy… I mean, he’s horrible, he’s an awful, vile little man - but the Charlie I knew would ever do such a thing as that, something so awful as pulling out people’s insides and digging around in their bodies, the Charlie I knew would never do such a thing… but he had me fooled into thinking he was a nice man, so I’m not so sure anymore.” 

“I understand,” Jimmy nodded, although he was lying, as he had been haunted by Bateman’s cold stare since Mulder and Scully had given the Gunmen the case, Byers had explained that all the evidence was there, every little scrap of detail about each murder had pointed directly to Bateman, from purely circumstantial things to actual physical evidence such as DNA samples, not to mention that he was covered in blood that had matched the latest victim. There was no way that Bateman had even a scrap of innocence, and Jimmy knew that, he knew but he did also know that he had to lie for the sake of the article, for the sake of making his companions, his colleagues, his friends, his siblings, of making the other three men back at the motel proud of him. “Is there anything else?” 

“Yeah, actually,” Megan finished the rest of her drink, setting down the empty coffee cup with a thud, almost slamming it onto the oak table, she ran a hand through her hair and sighed heavily. “There’s one person you should talk to more than anyone else.” 

“And who would that be?” Jimmy questioned. 

“Feller named (y/n), he’s a friend of mine,” she answered, “he knew Charlie, he knows all of us, ain’t no way he’d be unable to help you with your article. He probably knows shit that nobody else does… but nobody’s seen him in ages, he just sorta… fucked off. Y’know?”

“Sure.” 

“I do miss him, though, I know he wanted to kill Charlie, but (Y/n) is a good guy, through and through, he’s a good guy and he can probably help you a lot more than I can, if you can find him… I don’t know where he’d be, if I’m honest, but if you meet him, can you tell him that I miss him?” 

“Of course.” Jimmy nodded slowly, almost promising it to himself and to Megan that if he did ever talk to and meet the infamous (y/n), then he would certainly pass on the message; it was the least he could do, it was the least amount of thanks that he could give her for everything that she had told him. But after finishing his drink, he stood up, and smiled a little sadly at her. “I should get going, but I can’t thank you enough for this, for being so open about everything.” 

“Oh, hon, don’t sweat it,” she leaned over to pat his hand gently, reassuringly. “If you have any other questions for me, you can always just swing by, okay? I’ll talk to you on my breaks, so be warned that you might have to wait a while.” 

“Thank you,” Jimmy said sincerely, softly. “Really, Megan, thank you.” 

“Get home safe,” she told him, standing up to walk him to the door. “Okay? Promise me, you’ll get home safe, Jimmy.”

“I promise,” he agreed with a nod. “I promise you I will get home safe.” 

“Good,” she quickly kissed his cheek, daring to crack a smile at him. “See you around.” 

“And you.” 

Wandering around aimlessly and without much to do, Byers had his hands in his pockets as he allowed himself to be drenched by the pouring rain, his suit clung to his skin, his shirt was almost see-through it was so wet, he kept wandering and wondering what he was supposed to do, where he was supposed to go, after all, he mostly did the background work, he mostly stayed behind the scenes; swallowing thickly, Byers wasn’t really looking where he was going, and thudded into something solid, immediately opening his mouth to apologise profusely and to let out a string of sorry’s and how awful he felt, but when he looked up, he fell silent as a dormouse. Silent as a fan that had been turned off, he stood there, mouth agape, eyes wide, words failing him, words never seemed so hard to form and to say, words never seemed to get so stuck in his throat and clog his airways. He had not seen you in so long, and now here you were, soaking wet and standing before him with a daft smile and eyes as wide as his, your jaw having fallen slack, you looked just as, if not more, surprised and shocked to see him. 

“John…” the only word that left your mouth before you choked on your own breath, eyes glistening with tears as you could do nothing but to stare at him in shock, as you could do nothing but to look at him, unable to form any single word or to even move, so completely and utterly stunned that you were frozen to the spot, glued there. The cat truly had your tongue, now, and you were grasping at straws trying to force yourself to speak or to move. But to your surprise, it was Byers who took the first step, falling into your arms with his hands on your waist and his elbows by your hips, pulling you down as he fell to his knees. Letting you grasp the back of his blazer with one hand, just below his neck, your other hand grasping onto his lower back. Worried you would tear the fine fabric of his blazer as you went down with him, letting him press his forehead against your stomach as you let out a choked sob; but then Byers moved, letting his hands slide around to your waist; never in a million years would you have ever thought that he would react such a way, usually quite shy and quiet, never the type to take the first step and make such a bold move, but you could not help but to lean into him, to hold him so terribly close. Neither of you spoke, kneeling down on the wet asphalt, the soaking wet pavement, simply grasping each other, holding onto one another as if you had been separated for years and years and years… and in truth, you had been, you had been separated for years and years and years, so why did his reaction shock you so much? Why had you expected him to act normally under such abnormal circumstances? You were weak when you finally managed to break away and to stand, chuckling nervously as you felt heat on your features, doing your best not to allow the cold rain in your eyes to spill. He looked good, age and time were certainly on his side despite his suit being quite out of fashion by today’s standards, he looked good. The grey patches in his beard certainly did him justice, too, though. You could feel your jeans, ripped and stained with mud and blood, stick to your skin as you did your best to act normal, to act natural and as if you weren’t so awfully close to crying and as if you weren’t soaked right through to your bones from the hammering rain. You shook your head, much like a dog, little droplets scattering and splattering. 

But finally, you gathered yourself, and spoke. “John Fitzgerald Byers, I never thought I’d see you again.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t think I’d see you, either,” his voice was quiet, close to breaking and squeaking as he dared to smile, blushing so furiously that it looked like crimson bloodshed on his cheeks. He scratched at his beard for a second, trying to steady himself on weak legs. “I’m so sorry, I really am, I didn’t mean to - good lord, I’m such an idiot, I- I’m- I’m sorry, I-”

“Hey,” you laid your hand to rest on his shoulder as you shot him a smile that was dulled and darkened by the clouds of silence. “Don’t worry about it too much… I… it’s… I mean… it’s good to see you again.” 

Byers shifted his weight from one foot to the other, licking his lips and trying to speak, but the cat had his tongue and all he could think was how much he had missed you, how much he had tried to push every thought of you from his mind whenever you haunted it, how he always compared every potential romance to you, how he always fondly remembered the time he had spent with you but had failed and regretted to tell you that he had loved you once upon a time; Byers still regretted not telling you before he had left, he still regretted not admitting to you that you were the one he had loved all those years ago and how he had always wanted more than just friendship and companionship when it had came to you; he wasn’t lonely, he had Langly and Jimmy and Frohike, but he did often think about the what ifs when it came to you - what if he had told you that he had loved you back then? What if he had told you that you were always on his mind and haunting him even when he didn’t want you to? What if he had stayed or taken you with him? Would things still have been the same? Would he still be standing there now, asking himself how he was supposed to react to seeing you after all of those years apart? He wasn’t even sure if you were the same person these days, he almost certainly wasn’t. 

“It’s good to see you, too.” 

“What’re you doing here, John?” You asked, retracting your hand and stuffing it into your cold, damp pocket, wincing a little at the sensation but not bothering too much to pay attention to it. You could always shower and put on dry clothes when you went home, you could always ignore the cold and the damp in favour of catching up with him; you could always push everything aside just to see his smile once more. 

“I’m working,” Byers admitted, clearing his throat and scratching at the side of his neck before laying his hand flat at the back and rubbing it gently. “I, uh, I’m an investigative journalist, now.” 

You raised a brow, letting out a curious and impressed hum that made his bones ache to be holding you once more; you cleared your throat, taking a step back and looking him up and down, you looked impressed by the smile on your lips and the glimmer in your eyes. Although he was sure that that was just the way that the street lamps had dared to sparkle within your eyes at that moment. You ran your thumb along your bottom lip. “And here I thought that you’d go on to do some government bullshit like the IRS or the FCC or something.” 

He stiffened slightly, nodding and doing his best to hide the fact that you had gotten it right - he was employed at the FCC for some time, but that was ancient history and things had been different since he had met his three companions and Mulder. In a way, you were ancient history, too, you were the spot on his history that he so often thought about and that he wished to make amends with. You were ancient history, but he wanted to write you down so that you would live forever, so that the world could read of his love for you when he was dead and gone, you were the ancient history that he wanted to write down just so the world would know how much you had meant to him. “I, uh… yeah, I… I worked for the FCC for a while but… I met some people, and things changed.” 

“You met some people?” You asked curiously, raising a brow and tilting your head slightly. Byers was a fairytale, you wanted to share the way he always made you feel with the entire world, to let them share in how he made your stomach feel filled and infested with butterflies, how he made your heart roar and bash at its cage, how he made your hands shake, how he made you unable to stop smiling. But if there was one thing about fairytales, it was that the street-wise rebel never wound up with the prince. The bad boy never wound up marrying the prince and living happily ever after. 

“Uh, yeah,” he nodded, clearing his throat again, feeling as if the muscles were contracting and sticking to each other, as if he would swallow his own tongue if he so much as looked you in the eyes, he was weak. “Langly, they’re great, you would like them. And Frohike, he’s a good guy, too. There’s also Jimmy, he’s, uh… he’s a good kid. And Mulder and Scully, they’re these FBI agents we work with sometimes, but we, uh, we like Mulder because sometimes he, uh, he has these theories that are wilder than ours, but they’re both good people.” 

“They sound pretty cool, John, what are they doing around you?” You teased, flashing him a certain smile that made his knees grow weak. 

“Sometimes, I ask myself that,” he chuckled, unable to tear his gaze away from you; you still dressed the same as you did back when he knew you, ripped skinny jeans that were stained with mud from skidding onto damp fields and blood from getting wiped and smeared onto the light blue denim, an old band t-shirt that was slightly too big, light grey-blue high-top trainers that were fairly clean although clearly scuffed from running on pavements, an old leather jacket that was clearly meant for motorcycle riding. He thought you looked great, in all honesty, he thought time had been kind to you and that you were still the most handsome man he had ever laid his eyes on. For a moment he wondered, he thought, that you were perhaps still up to your old tricks, that you were still swiping wallets and purses from the upper-class people you saw, that you were still stealing pocket watches and rings and necklaces and bracelets and cuff-links from them, that you were still breaking into the homes of the wealthy and robbing them blind without even being seen, let alone heard; Byers always did admire how skilled you were at pickpocketing and theft, at picking locks and sneaking around in the dead of night, he did always admire that of you, how dedicated and good you were at your tricks. He didn't agree with it, of course, but he did have to give you a fair amount of respect for only targeting politicians, bankers, anyone who could miss a few hundred pounds here and there. He remembered what one of your friends had called you, a nickname that had stuck for as long as he could remember: Artful Dodger. That always made him smile. “Are you still, y’know, uh… are you-”

“Still stealing shit from those fucking vile rich cunts?” You guessed, nodding as you chuckled. “From time to time, I’ve got enough cash to see me through ‘til I’m dead, so these days I just…” you shrugged, flashing him that damned smile again. “I give it to whoever needs it most.” 

“You’ve gone from Artful Dodger to Robin Hood,” Byers laughed softly, nervously, why was he so anxious and nervous around you? Why did your smile always make him weak at the knees and breathless? Why could he not, as much as he wanted to, tear his gaze away? The curses and swear words that you used, the worst of the worst ones, they made him bite the inside of his lip - he never liked the fact that you swore so much, that you had such an awful sailor’s mouth, but… he found it endearing. Like a bad habit that only fuelled how much one person loved another. 

“Something like that,” you shrugged, licking your lips and sighing as you shook your head. “Yeah, somethin’ like that… anyways, Mister Investigative Reporter, what are you working on that brought you here? Back to me?” 

Byers swallowed thickly, hung up on the last three words, back to you, it had brought him back to you, back into your arms and maybe it was fate, maybe it was destiny or something that he had brought him here, that had made him bump into you on the street in the late afternoon while the rain was hammering down and soaking his suit and making his hair flat and drip down his face, maybe there was something that had brought him back to you, and maybe it was the article that the Lone Gunmen were writing, or maybe it was something else; he had almost forgotten about the rain, how it always seemed to rain in the city, from what he remembered of it, from the memories he held of it, it had always been raining. “Charlie Bateman’s accused of serial murder and, uh… me and my friends, we’re… we’re writing an article about it.” 

“Huh,” you raised your brows, shrugging. “I knew Charlie back in the day… he was kind of an asshole.” 

“Have you met with him within the past two years at all?” Byers asked, trying to act professional, although that was hard when you were standing in front of him, soaked to the bone, making him want to take off his blazer and drape it over your shoulders so that you wouldn’t get cold. 

“Not really,” you admitted, shaking your head. “I mean, we had a falling out not long after you’d skipped town… we argued, y’know, and he never spoke to me again.” 

“What was the argument about?” 

You let out a sigh, your eyes widening slightly as you pursed your lips and scratched at the side of your nose. “I, well, y’know how it is, I mean… we, uh, we argued because I couldn’t move on from something.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“John…” you turned away, looking up at the sky for a moment and closing your eyes, letting the rain hit your face as you let out a bitter and broken and battered and sad chuckle. “We argued because I was in love with someone, and I couldn’t, wouldn’t, move on from them. Charlie wanted me to forget about them, he wanted me to forget and to move on, to act like I was never in love with them in the first place… and I couldn’t. I just couldn’t do it, so Charlie… we got into a fight, and I haven’t seen him since - and that was years ago.” You turned back to Byers, offering a sad smile. “I’ve been off-grid for ages, I went… I fucked off and went off-grid, I keep to myself these days, I stay at home after…” 

“After what?” 

“I robbed a bank, John,” you admitted quietly. “I robbed a bank, took a load of cash out of some rich cunts’ accounts and kept just enough to keep myself alright ‘til I die, or ‘til I turn ninety. I got enough to survive. I can’t help you with this.” 

“Do you know anyone that could?”

“Well, shit, sure,” you nodded. “There’s Karl, you can find him at the metal club, y’know, fuck, what’s it called? The Stag and Hounds? I think? But you can find him there, he should have some information… then there’s Megan, she works at the coffee shop, dunno if she owns it yet, but she was talking about buying it before I went dark, it’s the one that’s got the big fuck off bay windows and I’m pretty sure she’s there most days… but there’s also Lucy, she might be of some use, she owns the pub, it’s either The Fox or The Flyer, but she owns it and has done for years - she could help you out, but… you gotta understand, John, I heard what Charlie did to my mates. I heard the shit he was saying, and…” you paused to clench your jaw. “If I ever see him around my fucking town again, I’m gonna kill him. I don’t fucking care if he’s changed, or if he’s better than he was, I don’t fucking care. I’m gonna fucking kill him.” 

Byers swallowed thickly, having always been just a little bit scared of your temper, and knowing very well that you had meant what you had said, that you would never say something like that without meaning it, and he could see that wolfish snarl come to your lips, and he moved forward, daring to grasp your hand and gently squeeze it; he always knew how to stop your temper from snapping, he would never forget. Nobody else could do it, for some reason, he had seen many of your friends try and fail… but whenever he tried to put out the flames, they always died. “He’s in custody, awaiting trial. I don’t think he’ll come back.” 

You melted, relaxing and letting out a sigh as you dared to nod a little bit, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you let out a soft growl. “I can’t help you with this.” 

“I don’t expect you to,” he said softly. “Not if it could put you in danger.” 

“Come back to my place tomorrow,” you told him gently, “come to my place, you and your mates can stay while you’re here - I can’t… I won’t let you all stay in some shitty motel room where there’s fleas and shit. I fucking can’t. You can set up shop or whatever the fuck you wanna call it at my place, I got the space, and I trust that you’ll keep me off-grid, that you won’t let no one know where I am. That I’m still here. You can do that, can’t you?” 

“Sure we can,” Byers nodded, not wanting to tell you that he and his companions had been ‘dead’ for years and that they had set up their office beneath the very cemetery that they were supposedly buried in, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you that he knew exactly how to keep your cover and ensure that you would remain very much off-grid. No, that could wait. That could wait for now. There would come a time where he could tell you about it, but he had a feeling that, for now, it could wait. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t sweat it,” you let go of his hand, pulling away properly and clearing your throat, preparing to leave although you were more than reluctant to do so, more than hesitant to abandon him and to risk never seeing him again, to creep back into the shadows like the protector of the travellers of the night, to sink back into isolation and loneliness for the time being, until you could reveal your location to your other friends. You wouldn’t tell him where you were hiding out, where your home was, you figured that he would be able to find it on his own, he was smart enough, and his friends probably were, too, they were probably all more than smart enough to find you when the time came. “John?” 

Byers raised his brows at you, frowning a little, looking like an adorable puppy-dog that could make your heart melt with just one look, just one quick glance. 

“It’s good to see you again,” you admitted, your voice breaking a little too much, and you had hoped that he didn’t hear it as you smiled weakly, sadly. “Honestly, it’s really good to see you again.” 

“(y/n), I missed you,” Byers admitted softly. “And, uh, I can’t… can’t wait to see you again.” 

“Oh, I know, pretty boy,” you shot him a wink and a smile, trying to act as if parting wasn’t such a sweetly sorrowful event, trying to put on a brave face as you dared to take a few steps back and look him up and down once more, noting how good he looked despite being dripping and soaking wet. Parting was such sweet sorrow. “You never could stay away from me for long.” 

“No, I couldn’t.” Byers let out a sad chuckle, dampened and darkened by the clouds of sadness that caused his throat to feel clogged and thick. He watched you walk away, he watched you leave him, and he really did hope that it was not going to be the last time he would ever see you. But now he had to convince his companions, his friends, to agree to stay with you. 

Finally reunited and together once more, The Lone Gunmen sat in the motel room, spread out; Byers was on the itchy and somewhat uncomfortable navy chair by the window, his legs spread and his hands clasped between his thighs; Langly was on one of the beds, sat with their legs crossed and their laptop in front of them, hunched over as they typed away; Frohike was leaning against the chest of drawers with his arms folded, looking around at his companions; and Jimmy was sat on the floor, his legs stretched out but crossed at the ankle as he read through a sports magazine. 

“So, did anyone find anything out?” Byers asked, drawing the attention to the article that they needed to have written and published and printed. 

“I spoke to a girl called Lucy at a bar,” Frohike started, “she didn’t know a lot, but she mentioned a guy named (y/n).” 

“I met up with a guy called Karl at the metal club, he gave the same name,” Langly admitted. 

“Yeah, and at the coffee shop, the barista, Megan, she spoke about the same guy,” Jimmy agreed, nodding. 

Bringing his hand to his mouth, Byers frowned as he looked between his companions; if they had all talked to the same people that you had mentioned earlier, then they practically had the entire story between them. Outside, it was still raining, it was still always raining heavily here, and Byers could hear the harsh droplets banging against the window behind him, he could feel a shiver run down his arms and his back despite having gotten changed when he had gotten back. He felt cold, and he wasn’t sure why. He felt as if he should bring it up to the other Gunmen that he had spoken to you, that he had actually met you in the flesh and that he had had a history with you - ancient history, that was, though, ancient history that he had always wanted to write down so that the world could read it and would be able to understand why he had fallen for you all of those years ago. Ancient history. Of course, Byers wanted to tell his friends about you, he wanted to explain that you were really a good person despite your previous connection to a serial murderer, he wanted to explain that the things that they were bound to find out - the bank heist, the pickpocketing, the theft, the burglary - he wanted to explain that you specifically targeted rich people who deserved it, who could live without a few hundred thousand in their banks, he wanted to explain that you weren’t like Charlie in the slightest, he wanted to admit that you had told him, to his face, that you would kill Charlie if you ever saw him again. Byers was very much stuck between a rock and a hard place, as although he wanted to tell his friends about you, he really did want them to know and he almost couldn’t bear the weight of the secret, he did also want to protect you, he wanted to protect you up until he could ask his friends if they could go and see you, to stay with you. Conflicted, Byers swallowed thickly, shaking his head and scratching at the spot just below his ear that itched like a flea bite. He truly and honestly did want to talk to them about it. But the more he thought about it, the more he wasn’t quite sure. 

Rubbing his forehead, Byers let out a harsh and heavy sigh, filled with burden and overthinking too much. Why was this so hard? But then again he did suppose that most people didn’t have to tell their friends that they had met up with someone they had once loved that had robbed a bank, stole thousands of pounds, pickpocketed the rich in the street, stolen from the rich’s houses among other things, and that they wanted to go and see them and to find out where they lived, let alone that they had been offered a safe place to stay and to work while they were in town. Byers supposed that that wasn’t a common question he could simply look up the answer to in a book or on the internet. He supposed that it wasn’t a common situation for most people to be put in. He was so unsure of what to do, what to say and how to act, how to even approach the subject at hand; he tried to silence the growl of his stomach when it bared its teeth and began to snarl, he had forgotten to eat all day and now he was paying the price for it. Maybe living off of coffee had not been his finest choice, or his smartest for that matter. But now all eyes were on him, his friends asking what they should do for food - there was a nice take away down the street, a few pubs that they might be able to afford, maybe they could find a decent enough place to go and eat but as of yet, they could not quite agree on one thing. Jimmy wanted fish and chips, Langly wanted a burger, Frohike wanted a curry, and Byers… well, he would be happy with beans on toast or just a sandwich if he was honest, something filling that would see him through. But he left it down to his three friends to decide what they would get, he was usually quite insistent and picky when it came to food, but right now, he had much more important things on his mind that he needed to sort through like a box of old memories in an attic, he needed to untangle the wires and to try and figure out just exactly what he was supposed to do, and how he was going to do it without upsetting anybody - god, that was the last thing he wanted, the thought of upsetting someone made him feel sick. 

It was Frohike who had decided to order the take away from the local chip shop, but while the friends waited for their food to be delivered to their motel room, Byers decided that now was the best time to mention you, to bring up your offer and your kindness towards them, he decided that now was the time to actually speak up about it. 

“(y/n)’s off-grid,” he started, “but I saw him. I spoke to him.” 

“How?” Langly questioned, raising their brow. 

Byers shrugged, letting out another one of those harsh and heavy sighs. “I ran into him on the street… he couldn’t really help us, but he’s offered us a place to stay.” 

“Anywhere’s better than here,” Langly grumbled. 

“But is it safe?” Frohike asked, turning to Byers with a questioning look. 

“I know (y/n) from years ago,” Byers admitted, hanging his head. “We were…” he was in love with you. “We were close. He’s a good guy.” 

“You sure?” Jimmy frowned. 

“I’m sure,” Byers nodded. “He’s a pickpocket, and a thief, but he… he only targets rich people.” 

“So not us,” Langly chuckled. 

“Not us,” Byers confirmed with a curt nod. “He’d never target friends, anyway. Only rich people. But he… he’s got to stay off-grid, there was a bank and… he robbed it. There was a heist, and he has enough money to survive on his own. But he has to stay off-grid because of it.” 

“So it’s a bit like our graveyard situation,” Frohike shrugged. “I’m sure we can make sure he’s off-grid.” 

“I know we can,” Byers replied, “but, he’s offered us a place to stay and to work while we get this article about Bateman done… but he gave me three names.” 

“Okay,” the friends nodded. 

“Lucy, Karl and Megan.” 

A harsh and deafening silence fell over the four companions as they looked at one another; it wasn’t just by coincidence that Lucy, Karl and Megan had mentioned you, and nor was it just coincidence that you had mentioned Lucy, Karl and Megan, either. Sure, it could have been a different (Y/n) that they had mentioned, but Byers knew that they had meant you, he knew that they meant you through and through. But as they looked at one another, confused and perhaps even a bit suspicious, the Gunmen all knew that there was only one thing to do - they had to go and see you, they had to ask you some questions, because while they weren’t sure if Lucy and Karl and Megan had meant you, you were their only solid lead for the time being, unless if they found another (y/n) in town who knew the bar owner, the bartender and the barista, too. 

“And what about Bateman?” Langly asked. “Did he mention him?” 

“They haven’t spoken in years,” Byers recalled the information. “(Y/N) told me that they’d fallen out because Bateman didn’t like the fact that he… he was in love with someone and wouldn’t move on. He told me it was shortly after I had left, so I’m pretty sure it’s been years since he’s spoken to Bateman.”

“Maybe we should go and see (Y/n),” Frohike commented. “If only to get the story straight.” 

“Yeah, and he can probably tell us why Bateman snapped,” Langly added. 

“Or at least try and help us know why,” Frohike agreed. “And if Byers is sure it’s safe there, I don’t see why we shouldn’t go and check it out.” 

“Which you are sure, right?” Langly asked, turning their attention to Byers as they frowned. “You’re sure that (y/n)’s place is safe, that he’s not gonna mess with us or anything?” 

“Very,” Byers confirmed, licking his lips as he shifted in his seat. “I know (y/n), I know he wouldn’t hurt any of us, he wouldn’t try anything like that.” 

So it seemed sorted, apparently, the four companions, the four friends, the four siblings, would go to your house the next day, once they had eaten and slept on it, which definitely seemed like more than a good idea; the food wasn’t great, that much was for sure, it was far from great, but it tasted alright, it was cheap, and it was filling, which was what they needed in that moment as they talked over their respective meals. The beds were uncomfortable, but they did manage to get some sleep when they crowded into one, choosing to sleep in a pile like a bunch of puppies if only because it was cold during the night and was more comfortable by a little. They knew that in the morning they would have to pack up all of their stuff, which wouldn’t be hard considering they had not unpacked in the first place and it was only a matter of getting their laptops back into the van, really, but they knew that they would have to pack it all up into the van and that they would have to try to find your house, but they were all quite smart, and between Langly and Frohike - providing Byers would drive - they shouldn’t have much of a problem, it should be relatively easily between the two of them. It shouldn’t cause much of a problem to just find the place and to drive to it, it really shouldn’t. But even still, Byers could not help but to worry about it all; he could not help but to worry about accidnetally blowing your cover or causing you to run into danger because of him, because of his stupid decision to try and spend time with you and to reconnect, he could feel his breath hitching and getting caught in his throat as he thought about what could possibly happen to you, he could feel himself shaking and trembling beneath the duvet as he did his best not to allow his worry to get the better of him, not to overthink, not to spend the next few hours that he should be sleeping wide awake and asking himself a thousand and one questions about how he was going to ensure your safety. It would take a miracle to get him to sleep, but as far as he knew, miracles didn’t happen in this city. It was still raining. 


	4. Chapter 4

Plans changed, plans always changed last minute, plans were never really set in stone where the Lone Gunmen were concerned, plans would get flipped on their heads and turned right around and folded three-ways from Sunday, plans changed, plans always changed, they were always switched up and toyed with, which was something that Byers had never particularly liked, he always preferred things to be planned out down to the crossing of the very last t and the dotting of the very last i, but even still, he could not complain about it this time, he didn’t exactly have a leg to stand on, and nor did he have an argument as to why the changed the plan would be worse than the original, he had no choice but to go along with it no matter how disgruntled he was that it was all very last minute and moved around and fiddled with; the plan had not even changed so drastically that it would mean around thirty-thousand different things, the plan had not changed so much that it would be a nuisance, the only different was that they would have to make a few stops here and there. Byers was picked to drive, which he didn’t mind, especially when he checked the fuel gauge on the van and found that they wouldn’t need to siphon a little from some cars, he had enough petrol. For once, he had enough petrol. For once they wouldn’t need to suck out petrol through a rubber tube and spit it into that awful can. He was grateful for that, he wouldn’t lie, he was very much grateful for not having to do such a thing for once. But even still, he wasn’t exactly keen on driving around the town so much, getting caught in traffic, having to sit in the queues that seemed to go on beyond the horizon, listening to ‘Crocodile Rock’ by Elton John on the radio and tapping the steering wheel in time with the music. The first stop was a fairly simple one, only dropping Jimmy off to go and speak to Lucy at the pub, letting him jump out of the back of the van and watching him go into the building before the drive continued; Langly then was dropped off at the coffee shop with the big bay windows to go and see Megan, and once again, Byers watched them go in before he drove off to the final stop he would be making; Frohike was the last to get out, hopping out of the van when it stopped outside of the heavy metal club, Byers watched him go in, but he hesitated to continue driving. He hesitated to go to the location and Langly and Frohike had found that morning, he hesitated, biting at the side of his bottom lip so much that he could feel the flesh pulling away from it, his heart throbbed as he thought about whether or not he should, whether or not he could - he didn’t want to put you in danger, he didn’t want to blow your cover, he wasn’t sure if he could be trusted to go and see you without drawing attention. The van wasn’t exactly incognito and inconspicuous. ‘Chelsea Dagger’ by The Fratellis was on the radio, now, and Byers finally put the van into ignition as he started to drive towards the location he had been given, trusted with; he wasn’t particularly sure where he was going, it all seemed new to him, it all seemed so different. It was still raining, though, it never stopped. But the location lead him out of town, between the one where the murders had happened and a barren wasteland of swamps and moors, there was a single road, and lots of little dirt roads, and he could see that the moors were etched in fog, which made him shiver as he drove down the main road; there was no one around for miles, he had not passed another car since he had left town, and there were no business people, now, there were no secondary school children stood out by the school gates smoking cigarettes, there were no primary school children skipping as they held onto their parent’s hands, there were no people dressed in their finest clothes to go and have lunch at the best restaurant in town, there were no people gathered in groups to go and get drunk at any one of the many pubs, there were no old men on street corners smoking cigarettes, there were no groups of men stood outside of a building smoking cigarettes and expressing their disgust at not allowing people to use the bathroom. There was nobody. Just acres and acres and miles and miles of greenery, of patches of grey and brown rock that splattered onto the green. For every direction that the horizon kissed, all Byers could see was the stretching of moorland that seemed to never end, cloaked in a light grey fog that hugged the greenery. Blanketed. Tucked in beneath the cold touch. He was quite concerned about accidentally going off of the road, unable to really see it thanks to how the dark grey asphalt, charcoal in colour, blended into the dark green patches of moorland on either side, but he knew that nothing would happen, he just worried about it a bit too much, fearful that someone would spot him and decide to follow him - the police, especially, because if they knew about you, if they knew about what you had done… things would not be so great. Byers kept checking in his rear-view mirror to try and see if anyone was behind him, but to his luck, and to his relief, there was no one around every time he checked. There was no one around to follow him, no one around to trail him all the way over to your place and hurt you, and put you at risk or try and blackmail you or try and do something even worse, which, right now, was almost certainly and definitely and absolutely his biggest fear. When he turned down the first dirt road, he let out a soft gasp at how bumpy and cracked and rugged and rocky the road was, but he soon found his footing so to speak, and although he wasn’t particularly keen on driving through such conditions, although he wasn’t particularly keen on going off of the road, he knew that he just had to do it, it was one of those things that he just absolutely had to do, but it was all worth it when he pulled up to the house. 

It looked like one of those big houses he had only ever seen in Louisiana and Mississippi, one of the big ones with multiple stories and a good amount of rooms, although it almost certainly wasn’t a mansion. He was quite in awe of it when he pulled into the driveway, thankful that it was flat and painted white, thankful that it wasn’t cracked and that he no longer had to fuss over driving off-road. Byers admired the house for a little while, it was a fair bit bigger than the one in the suburbs that he would have liked to have lived in, the one he had dreamed of so often with the white picket fence. It would have been nice to have lived in such a house, Byers thought. But so deep in his thoughts was Byers, that he had not noticed you had come out of the house, and were approaching him - not until he felt someone wrap their arms around his shoulders and yank him into a tight hug, catching him off guard until he realised it was you and relaxed a little, snaking his arms under yours so that his hands laid on your shoulder blades. You stayed like that for a moment, embracing him tightly and closing your eyes, keeping close to him as you chuckled softly and squeezed his shoulders slightly, letting him know that he could pull away and end it at any given moment; but Byers didn’t want to end the hug, he didn’t want to let you go, he didn’t want to miss another moment, but he knew that he had to, and he reluctantly pulled away, shaking his head at himself and silently cursing his stupid mistake. Why did he let you go? 

“Why don’t you come inside?” You asked softly, gesturing to the house and cracking a small smile at him. It had been so foggy on the drive there that Byers had failed to notice that it was no longer raining, that the weather, while it had definitely remained cold, had softened, and that now it was just cloudy and windy. Everything else had cleared up and softened on the world. “John? Is everything alright?”

Byers nodded, reluctant as he pulled away from you and dared to offer a kind smile, clearing his throat and fixing his tie as he took a step back. “Y- yeah, no, everything- everything’s fine. I’m fine, I’m okay.” 

You nodded, although he could tell that you didn’t believe him, he could tell by the way you looked at him that you did not believe in for even a second, but you didn’t say anything, instead leading him inside the house and offering to make him coffee - you had the Brazillian roast that he liked so much but had not had since his time working for the FCC. You had the German latte that tasted ever so sweet. And the bitter cheap stuff that costed less than a pound that he knew you liked with no sugar, no milk, three teaspoons of coffee, and iced. Byers chose the Brazillian roast that he had not had in far too long, grateful that you made it the exact way he liked it without even needing to ask him about it, like it was something you had memorised and committed to remembering because it was oh-so important to you. It made him smile when he took that first swig of it. You offered him food, to which he politely declined for the time being, he could eat later when the rest of his companions would swing by, he would eat when everyone else was, he was brought up that way. To be polite. You sat up on the counter closest to the sink, shrugging your jacket off, which was when Byers frowned and looked at you with great concern while you lit up a cigarette and began to smoke it, using the sink as an ashtray; on your bicep, was a red-yellow scratch, a lesion, that looked awfully painful, but there was a second below it, just below your elbow, and a grizzly looking one on your hand that he had not noticed, they all looked painful, the skin around them swollen. To say it looked painful was an understatement, was a severe understatement judging by the way you winced when you put too much pressure on either of the wounds, even if it was just to move your arm slightly. Why had you been so willing to hug him if you were in so much pain?

“How did you do that?” Byers asked as he raised a brow and frowned. “Your arm, good grief, it looks awful, (Y/n), let me-”

“Now, now, John, before you go panicking, it’s no big deal, just a few scratches,” you tried to assure him. “Just a few scratches, I know they look fucking mangey as all shit, but they’ll heal up. Don’t worry.” 

Byers frowned, not really wanting to take your answer for gold, worry flooding through his veins as he questioned whether or not to push his luck until you snapped and allowed him to patch your arm up; in ancient history, he would bug and nag and plead and beg with you until you would get so annoyed that you would snarl and tell him to patch you up - in ancient history, he would patch up even a papercut when it was on you, he would take care of you. He would have to patch up your face at least once a week after you had gotten into a fight, he would have to constantly patch you up back in ancient history. He always worried so much when you were hurt. But then he remembered all the times that he had been hurt, usually by his father, and you had returned the favour; you wouldn’t talk to him, you wouldn’t make him explain, you would just take care of the bruises, of the split lips, of the black eyes, running a hand through his hair as you told him you were checking for head injuries - but he always thought you just knew that he liked it and found it reassuring when you touched him and when you gently raked through his hair like that. 

“A-are you sure? I mean, I can always-”

“John, you’re not doing it this time,” you chuckled, shaking your head and smiling at him, so fondly, as you rolled your eyes. “I’m not letting you bug me into letting you treat my wounds. I’m fine. Promise… you worry too much.” 

Byers could not help but to shake his head at that, knowing too well that he did not worry too much, he knew that you would say that any wound you had was ten times less serious than it was; he remembered when you sliced open your left wrist, he remembere

He remembered when you had caught your eyebrow on some barbed wire and had sliced that open, too, but had told him that there wasn’t a cause of concern, that there was nothing wrong and it was just a little scratch. He remembered every single time you had been wounded or hurt or injured and had brushed it off with a smile and a charming lilt in your voice that made him weak at the knees. He did not worry too much about you, about the wounds you were gaining and obtaining, he did not worry too much, and although he wanted nothing more than to nag you into letting him patch you up, he didn’t have the heart. He couldn’t work up the nerve to try it again, there had been too much time, too much distance, too many years, and he had a feeling that you had worked up an immunity to his puppy dog eyes and begs. 

“You promise that you’re fine?” Byers asked eventually, biting at his inner lip and letting out a whine from the back of his throat. 

You took another drag from your cigarette as you slowly nodded. “Of course I promise. I’d tell you if I weren’t, wouldn’t I?” 

Byers wasn’t so sure about that, knowing that you had lied to him before and said you were fine and that your physical and mental health were in good condition when everything but that was true. But he did want to believe that now maybe you would, now you would tell him the truth and admit when you needed help, when you weren’t fine, that now you would finally tell him the truth when you were anything but fine and that you would accept his help and ask for it. He hoped that was the case, although he did have a strong feeling that it almost certainly wasn’t. 

“If I remember correctly, you were always getting yourself hurt,” Byers recalled as he took a swig from his coffee and dared to smile at you. 

“That’s because I was always fighting,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “Except for, y’know, the barbed wire… where’d you go, John? When you left, where’d you go?” 

“My father-” 

“Is that bitch still alive?” You asked with a certain snarling anger to your voice. 

“Yes,” Byers answered, “yes, he’s still alive, although not for lack of trying… but he moved us away. You know he did… but you stayed. You stayed, but you could’ve come with me.” 

“And leave my dad?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “No, you know… you know what it was like for us, John, you know… you know.” 

“I know,” he sighed. “Is he still around?” 

“No,” you admitted, hanging your head. “No, he… he’s gone.” 

“I didn’t know, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s fine,” you said softly. “He always did have a soft spot for you, though.” 

“For me?” Byers raised a brow, a little shocked to hear of such a thing as he scoffed and refused to believe it. 

“Yeah,” you let out a soft, quiet, sad, laugh. “Yeah, John, my dad adored you, thought the sun shined out of your fucking ass.” 

Byers smiled a little to himself. “My father wasn’t particularly keen on you, you know. He always tells me to stay away from you, even now.” 

You let out a loud howl of a laugh, throwing your head back for a moment before taking another drag from your cigarette, flicking ash into the sink. “Ha! Is that because he’s still worried that the big bad pickpocket is gonna fucking corrupt his only son?” 

“Something like that,” Byers admitted with a half-smile. “But you never liked him much, either.” 

“That’s because he was a fucking cunt that used to beat his own kid,” you growled. “Bertram can go fuck himself. I’d rip his throat out for even half of the bullshit that he fucking dared to put you through, John. That man’s a cunt.” 

There you went, again, always sticking up for Byers even when he didn’t need you to, even when you didn’t have to, you were still standing up for him, taking his side; even when there was no one around that was attacking him, you were always taking Byers’ side, no matter what, and it made him smile a bit more as he realised that some things, the best things, they never changed. The best things never changed, which was probably why Byers had always had a bit of a thing for you, a little bit of a crush on you, some childish feelings that he could never quite rid of despite very much wanting to; he was older than you, although only by two or three years, and even now, he realised that the best things about you, the things that had made him fall for you, they had not changed in the slightest, they had not even faltered or thought of changing, the best things about you, the things that he had loved from the day he had met you, they had not changed, and he knew that his old crush for you, no matter how deeply he tried and wanted to bury it in the cavity of his chest, he knew that it would come back with a vengeance and then some, that it would break him, that you would make him weak all over again. 

“I had the biggest crush on you back then,” Byers admitted with a sigh, shaking his head, knowing that if you knew that he used to feel that way, then maybe you wouldn’t make him so weak after all. “You were… you were amazing… you still are, but-”

“I know,” you chuckled, fondly shaking your head at him. “I had a crush on you back then, too, John… you were such a goody-two-shoes, you wouldn’t swear, drink, you wouldn’t break any rule even if it was the most stupid and smallest one, and I… fuck, man, you fucked me up - I thought you were fucking adorable.” 

It was true, Byers had always been the most well behaved of your friendship group back then, and nobody could quite understand what had possessed someone as polite and well dressed and educated and well behaved as him to willingly spend time with you, when you were the least well behaved of your friendship group back then, always causing trouble and getting into a mess, always swearing in every sentence, always dressed like you had been pulled out of a bush backwards, and always insisting on doing something illegal or wrong, always insisting on being such a little troublemaker. Nobody understood what had brought you and Byers together, nobody was even sure if they wanted to know. Some people would joke that you were the brawns whereas he was the brains of everything, but you knew too well that Byers would never so much as break one rule; anything wrong that you did, you did because you wanted to, and if anything, Byers had always tried to talk you out of doing anything, he had always tried to prevent you from making trouble. But he didn’t exactly have the highest success rate at it. But none of that mattered, you and Byers were close, and although there was an eternity to try and figure out why, all you cared about in that moment was talking about all those fond times you had had together as well as all those blue times you had had; the bright and warm memories of laughter and joy and glee were just as important to you both as the dark and cold memories of shedding tears and pain and struggles. The memories of the bad times were just as important as the good, like when you had wound up in hospital after standing up to someone much stronger than you in order to protect Byers and he had spent days at your side, or when you had been extremely intoxicated and had climbed in through his window and told his stuffed grizzly bear teddy to be quiet and to stop making so much noise, the times spent hugging and laughing and smiling, the times spent crying and frowning and leaning on one another for support. While you and Byers were very much opposites, it was very clear to see that there was, indeed, a large amount of love and respect and admiration and fondness between the two of you; sure, a few people commented on it and told you to get together, but you never really did. You were too convinced that he deserved someone better, and he was too convinced that you wouldn’t look twice at him. Even now, you weren’t quite sure if you wanted to admit that you had thought about him every single day and that the blue skies reminded you of his eyes and the sunshine made you think of every time you had sat on a rooftop with him, your head in his lap and he read from different books, that the rain made you remember all the times you had crawled in through his window on a winter’s night just to see him, just to spend some time with him even if it was only a few precious minutes; it was ancient history, but it was history that you held to a far higher importance than your histories with some other people, it was ancient history that had you falling awake, unable to sleep. Ancient history that reminded you of a scene from the wild west - a gunslinger outlaw falling for the son of the town’s owner, an outlaw falling for someone far better than them, someone who could never be so awful. A rebel falling for a prince. The big bad wolf had caught feelings for the heroic lumberjack. You had hated it then, and you almost certainly hated it now. 

“I loved you so fucking much,” you admitted with a scoff and a smile, tears poking at the corners of your eyes. “John Fitzgerald Byers, you goddamn asshole, I loved you so fucking much.” 

“I loved you, too,” Byers whispered, smiling sadly as he tilted his head. “I should’ve taken you with me when I left… or at least snuck you into my college dorm when I went.” 

“I should’ve gone with you,” you lamented. “I kinda regret not trying to reach out all these years… well, not kinda, I painfully regret not fucking trying to talk to you, but I thought that you’d, y’know… you’d become too good to even think of me.” 

“I, I think of you, fondly,” he confessed. “I think of you fondly all the time, (Y/n)... and I think of you often.” 

How was he supposed to admit that you were almost always on his mind? How was he supposed to look you in the eyes and tell you that, no matter what time of day it was, he was usually thinking about you? You were the  melody of the song that had been stuck in his head for years, and as much as he did try to, he could never hum you out of his mind, he could never replay the memories enough times that you would leave him and stop haunting his mind like the phantom of the opera. You were always there. Always in the back of his mind, always haunting him. Always the ghost in his room. But he never actually wanted you to go away, he never actually wanted to drown you out or to get rid of you, he never wanted you to leave him, he never wanted his memories of you and the time you had spent together to leave, he didn’t mind the haunting, he didn’t mind you haunting his memory, he just… he wished that things could have been different and that maybe you wouldn’t haunt him if he had you there at his side, but he knew that that was more than impossible, he knew that no matter what, you would never see him as just as a friend; so he had to make peace with being haunted, with being reminded that he could never love you the way you deserved, that he was never the prince in your fairytale. No matter how much he wanted to be, no matter how much he yearned and pined and whined and begged and pleaded and longed and howled to be your prince, he knew that he never would be; he knew that there was someone out there at least twenty times better than him that would be your prince, your knight in shining armour, the prince that would break your curse and let you love openly and proudly. Byers wanted to be that prince, but he knew that he would never be. He would never be your King Arthur. Letting out a sigh, he swiped a hand down his face, and drained the rest of his coffee before swallowing thickly and shaking his head; he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t admit that he was still in love with you, that he thought of you far more than often, and that it was far more than fondness, he couldn’t look you in the eyes and tell you what he felt, even though he desperately wanted to, even though he wanted to say it more than anything, he could not bring himself to look you in the eyes and tell you what he had wanted to for years. Love was a losing game. Love was a broken fairytale. And all Byers could do was sigh, and shake his head as he did his best not to try and play the game, not to try and fix the burnt and screwed up pages. That was all he could do in his power. He looked at the lesions on your arm again, sighing heavily when he saw how parts of them had become more of a reddish colour from the blood beneath and how you winced whenever you moved your arm a certain way, causing you to seethe and scrunch your face as you tried to hold back the loud grunt of agony that wanted to slip past your lips. He desperately wanted to try and help with the wounds, to patch them up and to ensure that they weren’t infected and that they weren’t going to cause you any more pain - fuck, he hated seeing you in so much pain, and when he went to put his coffee cup in the sink, he saw how the light reflected off of the clear fluid that seeped through the cracks in the scabs, how it glittered in the kitchen’s light and made him recoil slightly as he thought about how painful and awful it must have been for you. 

“I should’ve told you back then,” you sighed, shaking your head and throwing your cigarette into the bin in the cupboard beneath you. “I should’ve told you how much I loved you and… every goddamn day I fucking regret the fact that I didn’t… and I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Byers said gently, shaking his head. “If anything it was my fault - I, I should’ve told you.” 

You let out a sad chuckle, shaking your head again as you looked down to the floor, trying not to think about how Byers had taken to standing against the sink, so close that you could feel his body when you bounced your leg. “Let’s be real here, John, even if we had told each other, would your old man really have let me fuck about with you? I mean, we all know that Bertram fucking hated me with a passion - do you really think he would’ve let me fucking date you?” 

“Yeah, he was never exactly kind to you,” Byers sighed, not exactly happy at remembering how his father used to treat you, the way he scorned and scolded and cursed you whenever he saw you, the way he threatened to call the police if you ever went near his son… to say that Byers’ father hated you was an understatement, and one that he did not exactly find very funny. “I’m sorry about that, you… you never deserved it.” 

“Why should you be sorry?” You asked with a raised brow, you never liked Bertram either, you thought he had a stick so far up his own backside that it was visible whenever he opened his mouth, you would quite happily have argued with Bertram over whether or not the sky was blue, and you were never exactly keen on the way he had treated Byers, especially. “It’s not your fault that your dad’s a fucking asshole, John, that’s not your burden to bear - it’s not your fault that Bertram’s a fucking cunt and a half, and you shouldn’t be fucking apologising for it… he hurt you more than he could have ever hurt me, John, it’s… it ain’t your place to apologise, alright? It ain’t your fuckin’ place, and if anyone deserves an apology for that twat’s behaviour - it’s you.”

Byers smiled at that, although it was sad, and his angel eyes of cerulean were darkened by the thick clouds of it, too. “I remember when he threatened to throw you out of our place after you sneaked in through the window and you said-” 

“Oi, Bert, go suck your mum,” you grinned, hanging your head and nodding, daring to chuckle softly as you thought back to that night, how it had been so cold outside and you had had nowhere to go, and something within you had told you to go and see Byers, to go and spend the night in his bed with him, how he had commented on some of the fresh scars that had littered your skin. “He fucking kicked off after that. Didn’t let you see me for a week.” 

“It was supposed to be a week,” Byers corrected, “but you kept sneaking in whenever he left.” 

“In my defense, you left your window open,” you teased. “All you had to do was close it.” 

“Why would I close it if I knew you were going to sneak in?” He asked softly. “Why would I risk not seeing you like that?” 

“I don’t know,” you replied with a shrug, your voice soft as you brought your gaze to meet his, daring to bite at the inside of your lip when it fully sank in how close he was to you, just a few inches of leaning over and your lips would have met, and being so close made your heart skip and your throat feel clogged as your breath hitched and got stuck in the cavity of your chest. “Why would you?” 

Swallowing thickly, Byers could feel his features heat up as he took a quick glance at your lips, asking himself if he really had moved on from you, asking himself if seeing you again would and could mean that he could finally tell you that he still loved you and always would, he could feel his bottom lip become snagged between his teeth as he tugged at it and shook his head to clear himself of those thoughts, but good grief, you were so close and all he had to do was to move a few inches closer just to feel your lips on his and maybe even your hands tangled within his hair as he held you so tightly but - but no, he was here to do a job, he wasn’t here to revive old loves and to follow up on crushes that would never be requited, he was here to write an article and to get the truth out to the people, he wasn’t here to regret all the times that he had failed to tell you that he loved you, he wasn’t here for that. “I, uh, I should probably go get my things… I mean, I should, I… I should grab my things.” 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll give you a hand,” you offered, hopping off of the counter and chuckling softly when you almost kissed him, so close that you could feel his heavy breathing, that he thought that you could feel the way his heart was pounding and roaring, but you made no comment on it. “Sorry…” 

“Don’t be,” Byers whispered, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “Should I, uh, should I move the van?” 

“If you want,” your voice was so low, so quiet. “I, uh, no one… no one comes here, so you, uh, you don’t have to worry too much about it, just… whatever you wanna do with it, really.” 

“Thanks,” he murmured, flashing you those puppy dog eyes that were so utterly lethal, that were without a doubt your kryptonite, your one and only weakness but he didn’t know it, and you didn’t particularly want him to, either. “Really, (y/n), I… me and my friends… we, I, uh, we can’t thank you enough for all of this.” 

While grabbing the bags and putting them away and sorting everything out, you and Byers talked at length, he asked you when the last time exactly you saw Charlie was, and you admitted that it was around a week after Byers had left town, you admitted that it was almost exactly one week after he had left your life for what you thought had been good, and although he didn’t want to admit it and to share his thoughts, he was starting to think that perhaps he was the love that you had mentioned, that maybe, just maybe, he had been the person you could not move on from, that there was a chance that you had felt so deeply for him that that love was still in your heart and that you still cared just as deeply and woefully for him now as you did back then, but he knew different; Byers knew that you would never feel for him that way now, and that while maybe you did love him all those years ago, you certainly didn’t, couldn’t, now - you were far too good for him, so far out of his league that he was twenty thousand leagues under the sea, buried deep beneath the waves of a love once lost that he was drowning. But as you talked and talked and talked and talked with him, he noticed that it was getting harder and harder to ignore the signs that he still loved you and it was getting harder and harder to squash them down and to act as if everything was fine, as if he wasn’t so deeply in love with you that he was absolutely drowning, gasping for air but to no avail; his heart was pounding, roaring, banging against his ribs with such brute force that he thought that they would crack and break, his hands were shaking but his palms were sweaty, he couldn’t stop smiling at you when you told a joke or winked at him, he was so nervous to say or do the wrong thing, to make a fool and an idiot of himself, but there were moths in his stomach that he wanted to pull out and throw  out into the air so they could leave him alone. And when you smiled, he was absolutely done for. When you smiled, he was a goner. 

What Byers didn’t know, though, was that while grabbing the bags and putting them away and sorting them out, while you talked at length and discussed everything about the article he was writing, from your connection to Charlie, to everything you had remembered that might have given him a clue about why Charlie did such disgusting and vile and inhumane things, you were in very much the same position as Byers was; you hoped that he knew that he was the love that you had mentioned, that maybe, just maybe, he knew that he had been the person you could not move on from, and that he would know that you had felt so deeply for him that that love was very much still in your heart and that you still cared just as deeply and wonderfully for him now as you did back then, but you guessed different. Byers was so much better than you, he was a good man, he always did the right thing, he was a good person, he deserved so much better than a pickpocket and a thief, he deserved someone who was actually a good person and who could love him the way that he deserved, he was so out of your league that you were drowning beneath twenty thousand of them and gasping for air but knowing that you would never taste it, you would never breathe it in again; it was getting harder and harder to ignore your feelings and to act as if everything was fine, to play things off as coolly as you could despite the fact that your heart was snarling and roaring and growling right up against the bars of its cage made of bone with such a ferocity that you worried that Byers would hear it, your hands shook a little but your palms were coated in a thin sheen of sweat that you wiped on the sides of your jeans, you couldn’t help but to try and bite back a smile when you shot him a wink and cracked a joke just to see him smile, you were nervous to fuck up one way or another, you were so nervous that he would reliase that you were little more than a fuck up and that he would run a mile away from you, there were butterflies in your stomach that you wanted to cut out and to stamp on just so that they would go away and leave you in peace. And when he smiled, you were absolutely done for. When he smiled, you were a goner, well and truly. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.


	5. Chapter 5

Night was starting to settle in when Byers went to go and pick up Jimmy and Langly and Frohike from town, getting stuck in traffic at nearly every single turn when he reached it, and although he was happy to able to think clearly at last and to sort through how he was going to put his article before… well before loving you, Byers was having a hard time not missing you, not regretting at least trying to hint at how he felt before he had left; either way, when Byers picked up his friends, his colleagues, his companions, he was thankful once more to have them by his side, an extra bit of help was never something he would ever deny, an extra support to rely on, some extra confidence given to him. They all confirmed Megan’s and Karl’s and Lucy’s stories, all having heard the exact same thing that had originally been said, no one was lying it seemed, they were all telling the truth and even had forms of proof to back up what they were saying and various ways of confirming their stories, but even still, it all lead back to you; every single story traced back to you and lead to your house. But when the Gunmen questioned Byers about it, he grew quiet, and almost shut himself off, chewing at the inside of his lip and not daring to speak up about you, about the things you had told him outside of what was relative and relevant to the article, he dared not to speak of how he had learned that you had once loved him and maybe, he hoped, possibly even still did; he dared not to speak up about the fact that you had lesions on your arms that were sore to look at, he dared not to say anything except what he needed to. The drive there was quiet, Langly slept with their head on Jimmy’s shoulder in the back, Jimmy himself was pressed against the door, sound asleep with his arms crossed over his chest and Langly’s legs over his, their arms were in their lap as they both slept peacefully, or at least, as peacefully as they could in such an awkward position; Frohike was staring out of the window, watching the world go by, watching as the marshland came into view and the city became a distant and far off world, he said nothing as he pressed his temple against the window, half-asleep but still half-awake. He soon dozed off, too, though. Byers kept his eyes on the road, and when he pulled up to your house, he sighed, not particularly wanting to wake his companions, his friends, his colleagues, his siblings in a way, he didn’t really want to wake them up and to disturb them, but he did know that he had to, the very same as he knew that they would all soon be able to sleep in clean beds and without having to sleep in a pile like a litter of puppies. Clearing his throat, Byers switched the ignition off, pulling the keys of the van out and daring to speak up at last. 

“Uh, guys, we’re here.” 

Frohike was the first to shoot up in his seat, grumbling and clicking his neck as he dared to stretch a little, turning around in his seat and kicking Jimmy’s foot. “We’re here!” 

Jimmy let out a yelp, jumping and flinching before he sighed and let out a loud yawn, nodding. “Where are we?” 

“(Y/N)’s place,” Byers replied quietly. “He’s got everything set up for us so… no more cramped motel beds.” 

Jimmy nodded again, smacking his lips before he nudged Langly and tried to wake them up, and when they did stir, they immediately clambered away from Jimmy, going straight for the door on the other side and yanking it open; they looked at the layout of the house and hummed lowly. “Byers, I thought you said this guy wasn’t rich.” 

“He’s not,” Byers said. “He just has enough to survive.” 

“Big house for someone that’s not rich,” Frohike replied, “are you sure this is the right place?” 

Byers nodded. “Very much so, yes.” 

After some deliberation and discussion, the Gunmen eventually climbed out of the van, and with Byers taking the lead, they approached the house; Byers knocked on the door all of once before it was opened, and you were standing on the other side, smiling at him. 

“Come on in,” you stepped aside to let them in, waiting for them all to head inside and go to the kitchen before you shut the front door and locked it; you followed them into the kitchen, pulling five mugs down from a cupboard before clearing your throat and chuckling when you realised you had left your speaker playing - ‘I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend’ by Ramones. “Sorry about the music, give me a second and I’ll turn it off, yeah?”

“Please don’t,” Langly smiled, sitting up on one counter, the one nearest the speaker, their legs dangled over the edge and leaning their feet on the handle of the bottom drawer. 

You raised a brow, looking them up and down before pursing your lips slightly and nodding. “Good taste.” 

Byers cleared his throat, capturing the attention of the room as he shoved his hands into his pockets, a small smile on his lips. “(Y/N), this is Ringo Langly,” he waited for you to shake their hand before he nodded over at Frohike, “Melvin Frohike,” he waited for you to shake his hand before he gave the final introduction, “and this is Jimmy.” 

Langly immediately took a liking to you, mostly because of the song you were playing on your speaker, but they did have a slight apprehension despite the fact that Byers swore by you and would sing your praises until the cows came home; Jimmy thought you looked cool, and made it known as he pointed out little bits of your outfit that made him smile; but Frohike was neither one way nor the other about you, a little bit hesitant to trust you, a little bit hesitant to be so open and talk to you, although you were charming, and he did slightly lean towards liking you. 

“How do y’all take tea, coffee, whatever?” You asked at last, letting the three strangers tell you before you busied yourself with making four cups of coffee and a cup of hot chocolate while they all sat at your kitchen table, gathered around it like they were expecting Sunday dinner, like at any moment you would pull out a three course meal for them. You didn’t mind it so much, thankful that you only had four chairs, as it gave you an excuse to sit on Byers’ lap, which was his idea although he did also tell you that he would have happily given up his chair for you, but when you did sit on his lap, he coiled an arm around your middle, his hand coming to rest just above your hip as he leaned his chin on your shoulder, keeping you close as you leaned your forearms on the table and helped them to go through their article, the information that they had been given; when Frohike asked you about your side of things, you told him to check the manilla folder on his side of the table, which was filled with all the proof that was needed about where you were during each of the murders - it was indisputable proof that you weren’t around, ranging from plane tickets to holiday destinations, all the way through to credit card receipts from cards which were, very unsurprisingly, stolen. There was no possible or plausible way to deny your side of everything, which meant that everything that they had all been told by Karl and Lucy and Megan was all true, and that everything that they had been told and given, every shred of evidence and every shred of whatever they could put into their article was true and indisputable; but even still, it was Byers had who had noticed one particular problem, and he snaked his arm underneath yours so that he could tap one of the beaten up folders that lay on the table. 

“The timeline,” he started, “it can’t be disputed, but… we’ve hit a dead end with it. We don’t have the entire story.” 

“Shit,” Langly grumbled, hanging their head and sighing. “What do we do?” 

“First of all, language,” Byers glared at them before he continued, “secondly… I don’t know. There’s not anyone else we can talk to, let alone anywhere we can go for proof and for more information…” 

“What does that mean?” Jimmy asked curiously, tilting his head to the side and frowning slightly. 

“It means we don’t have a paper to publish,” Frohike answered. 

“We’re just crying wolf,” Byers sighed, defeated, although he couldn’t let his bad mood consume and control him, especially not when you leaned into him so that your back was firmly against his chest and he could feel your steady breathing, which calmed him and made him relax a little as he dared to rest one hand on yours, blushing furiously and letting his eyes grow wide when you turned your hand over and laced your fingers with his. 

Biting at the inside of your cheek, you let out a grumble before swallowing thickly and daring to speak up. “Did you guys talk to Billy?” 

“Billy?” They all asked at once, making you snicker a little as you shook your head. 

“Billy, Charlie’s ex,” you told them. “She lives in the flat above the fish and chip shop, y’know, the little vegetarian one that’s just around the corner from the mosque and across the road from the newsagents? Yeah, she lives there… did you guys not talk to her?” 

“No,” Byers shook his head, humming lowly and hoping that you didn’t feel it, but from the way you shifted slightly, he knew you had, and he felt guilty. “Nothing in the case file we were given mentioned Charlie’s ex. And your friends didn’t mention her, either.” 

“Or at least, Mulder and Scully didn’t know about her,” Langly added. 

“Maybe she was out of town,” Frohike commented. 

“Or she skipped town,” Jimmy finished. 

“No, she wouldn’t have skipped town,” you shook your head. “She’s got a little boy, Iwan, he gotta be… I dunno, maybe six, now? Six or seven. Good kid, I’m his godfather so don’t go starting shit, alright?” 

“We won’t,” Byers promised, glaring at his friends. “Right?” 

“Is the kid Charlie’s?” Langly asked. 

You shrugged. “Oh, he’s Charlie’s kid alright, he got the same eye colour and looks the fucking spit of him, without a doubt… or at least he did, I ain’t seen Billy in donkey’s years.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Byers questioned softly, almost whispering in your ear as his hand slipped down to your thigh, gripping the side of it lazily, causing you to lean into him that little bit more. Fuck, you had to stop letting your body melt against him. 

“I thought you’d spoken to her,” you admitted. “Anyways, she works nights at the newsies while Iwan stays with his grandparents ‘cause they live a few roads down so they look after him. Best not interview her there, she’s probably fucking dog tired, especially because Iwan’s on a six-week break from school. But she works nights at the newsies and is usually free during the days, so you could go and see her tomorrow if you wanna talk to her about it all. All you gotta do is head to Lucy’s pub first, follow the road to the end, turn right, follow that road, get to the roundabout, then take the second exit, from there, you go left, then right, then left again, then you’ll pass the mosque, so you just go round the corner and there it is.” 

Frohike asked you to write down the instructions of how to get there, and you were happy to do so, although when you leaned forward to write down the directions, Byers frowned, missing the feeling of your back against his chest and having his chin on your shoulder, but you were soon to return, making him smile and relax once more; but you could tell that the companions were getting tired, their speech slowing down and becoming lazy, yawns littering the air, and it made you feel sorry for them - so once they finished their drinks, you showed them each of their rooms, and allowed them to turn in for the night, which they were all very much grateful for; Langly asked if they could play their music during the night, which you shrugged at and told them to go absolutely wild with it - it wasn’t as if you had neighbours to worry about, after all - which made them smile at you before they disappeared behind the closed white door. Jimmy asked where the bathroom was, and whether or not you could keep the light on all night for him, which you didn’t mind in the slightest - the bathroom was only at the end of the hallway. You made sure to tell all four of them, though, that if they needed anything in the night, they were more than welcome to raid your cupboards and every room in the house for whatever they needed, and they could just knock on your bedroom door and get you up if they really needed anything - you made sure Byers, especially, knew that, as his room was right beside yours. 

But with the Gunmen tucked away in their beds, sound asleep, the muffled sound of Langly’s music drifting to your ears as you laid in your own bed, you could not help but to frown; sure, you were tired, and you wanted nothing more than to sleep, but something was keeping you awake, some kind of tightness in your chest, some kind of coldness in your body like you were aching for something, for someone, a certain kind of melancholic cold settling on your skin as you did your best to try and sleep - but no matter how hard you tried, you could not force your body to relax and to give into the urge to sleep. You could not bring yourself to drift off into that wonderful state of dreaming of everything and anything, of dreaming about what would have happened if the past was different - would you have lived the life you were living now if you had stayed with Byers? If you had escaped with him? Or would you have lead a completely different life? One with white picket fences and a house in the suburbs and a husband with a government pension, a house in the suburbs that had a big back garden, the thought of children running around with the family dog, a wedding band on your finger as you watched your husband play with your children. Did you want that life? Or did you enjoy the thought of it? Either way, you were unable to care as you sat up in your bed and wiped your face with your hands to try and clear some of the murky, foggy, grogginess from it, groaning softly to yourself and shaking your head; why could you not sleep? What was stopping you? Why did you feel so cold? What kind of Hell were you in that you were so utterly and absolutely exhausted but could not sleep because of how cold you felt? You looked at the lesions on your arm, frowning at how they wept, before you made your way to the bathroom; the harsh light stung your eyes as you grabbed some toilet paper and wiped down your wounds with it, seething and wincing at each little wipe of soft tissue on your weeping wounds. You just wanted to sleep. That was all you wanted, nothing more, nothing less, you just wanted to fall asleep. You just wanted to sleep. 

But it seemed as if you were not the only insomniac, as when you turned around, you saw Byers leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded over his bare chest, his white dressing gown was undone, revealing the fact that he wore nothing but a pair of light blue boxers beneath it, and while you did take a moment to admire such a view, you were soon met with his sad and worried gaze, the gaze that burned into your wounds as you threw the used toilet paper into the bin and shrugged. 

“John-” 

“Are you okay?” His first instinct, making sure that you were alright, his first thought, making sure you were okay, his first worry, that you weren’t; those three words, falling in a whisper from his lips, made you sigh as you shook your head and laughed softly, bitterly. 

“No.” 

“Let me take a look,” he whispered, raising his brows and looking like a kicked puppy dog. “Please?” 

“Okay.” You allowed him to get close, to examine your wounds with great care and caution, seething and wincing quietly, muttering various versions of the word fuck beneath your breath when he put too much pressure on the wounds or tugged at them by sheer accident, which you knew made him recoil, but you still smiled softly and shook your head whenever he apologised. 

“Where’s your medicine cabinet?” Byers whispered, looking up at you at last; he followed your instructions, leaving you in the bathroom, sad on the corner of the bath until he came back holding gauze and plasters and antiseptic wipes. “This might hurt, and if it does, I am so, so sorry.” 

You tried to be quiet as he patched up the wounds, wiping them down with antiseptic that made you bite back a howl of agony, nearly sobbing as he wrapped them up with gauze and plasters, refusing to accept his apology each time it left his mouth, refusing to accept his apology because he didn’t need to apologise; but once it was done, Byers squatted in front of you, looking up at you like a dog that had been beaten too much, those fucking puppy dog eyes that made you weak and crumble. 

“Thank you,” you whispered eventually, sighing heavily and nodding before you let out a nearly silent chuckle, daring to smile at him. “Feels like deja vu, like we’re sinking into bad habits.” 

“If making sure you’re alright is a bad habit, then I must have really awful habits.” Byers replied gently, quietly as he dared to reach for your hand, holding it tightly but reassuringly as he dared to smile back. “Go back to bed, try to get some sleep, just rest a little, please?”

“Give me a minute,” you grumbled, shaking your head. “A motherfucker’s head is spinning.” 

“Sure.” 

Byers gave you all the time you needed, which you were certain was definitely more than a minute or two, probably five or six were more likely, but even still, when you stood up and sighed, he offered to help you get to bed, to which you shook your head and denied him, rejecting his offer as softly as you could; but then you asked something which he would not forget. 

“Can you sleep with me tonight, please, John?”

It was hard to keep the smile from his face as he nodded. “Of course, I, I can do that.” 

It was more than comfortable when Byers got into bed with you, letting you be the little spoon as you pressed your backside into his crotch and he wrapped his arms tightly around you, his lips on the top of your head as he bent his knees to make sure that you were comfortable; he quite liked it, having you so close, and even when you shuffled around so that you were lying with your head in the crook between his shoulder and his neck, limbs coiled around him like you were a python or an anaconda, he couldn’t help but to smile and to relax. Sleep came incredibly easily when you were cuddled into him, when you were so close and stealing his warm, the soft material of his dressing gown on your skin, one hand on his chest as you felt it rise and fall with his breathing, the feeling of his fingertips at the nape of your neck, drawing daft doodles into your skin as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to sleep at last. Sleep came easily when you were together, and the coldness had left the very second you had gotten into bed with him, and although your arm was still aching and stinging and sore, feeling raw and open despite the gauze and the plasters covering the wounds, you could easily ignore it in favour of savouring the way that being so close and cuddling Byers felt, how you had missed the nights when you had snuck into his father’s house through Byers’ open bedroom window so you had someone to cuddle during the lonely nights. You could easily ignore the pain from your wounds in favour of drowning in the sensation of being held by Byers, of being held so tightly and so reassuringly. You could sleep so easily and so deeply when you were held by him. 

You were awoken by Byers, how he shifted and groaned as he still tried to hold onto you despite needing to get up and to get moving, which made you groan and grumble in return as you tried to snuggle further into his embrace, but you knew that it was a losing game when he softly moaned your name and let out a whine about how he needed to get up, there were things to do, there were articles to publish and people to interview, he couldn’t stay in bed with you for long, although his own body was protesting against his words as he kissed your forehead and tugged you a little bit closer to his body, stealing some of your warmth as the early morning chill began to settle in; it took longer than usual for Byers to even get out of bed, leaving you tangled in the bed sheets that now stank of him, shrugging off his dressing gown when he realised that it was trapped beneath you and that you would not move, which he wouldn’t have minded, except it was so cold that he shivered and could feel the goosebumps marking his flesh, making him yearn once more to be in bed with you, snuggled up and cuddled into and warm. God how he yearned to stay in that bed, and as he crept down the hallway to his room, he smiled and paused outside of Langly’s door, listening to the heavy metal that was playing from the other side, muffled and quiet - it wasn’t Byers’ type of music, not by a long shot, but all the same, he was glad that his friend was sleeping soundly and felt comfortable enough to listen to their music all night, he was glad that they had slept through the night if he was honest. He paused outside of Jimmy’s door, too, pausing for a moment to listen to the soft snoring from the other side of the door, smiling to himself before he shook his head and went to his own room; he went to the wardrobe, opening it and looking at his suits for a moment with a frown, not really sure which one to wear. But luck was on his side, it seemed, as you crept in and leaned against the door frame with your arms folded across your chest and your brow raised, a small smile on your face as you admired the view. Byers in just his boxers, looking so determined and dedicated to finding just the right suit, but you could tell that he was struggling so you moved forward, and shot him a wink before taking charge. 

“This blazer,” you pulled out the dark grey one, the one that was just a shade or two lighte than charcoal, and laid it on his arm before you tugged out a white shirt and a pair of trousers that matched the blazer, but then you paused. “Do you have to wear a tie?” 

“Yes,” he replied with a nod, a little unsure of how to answer if he was honest, not used to people picking out what he wore, let alone used to having someone as attractive as you doing it, let alone used to having someone he loved so much and too much picking out his suits. 

“Fine,” you scoffed, shaking your head as you did your best not to smile. You opened the chest of drawers beside the wardrobe, looking at his ties for a moment before picking out his dark grey tie, the one with subtle stripes on it. You handed it to him with a grin. “That alright?”

Byers nodded, speechless, not sure how to thank you properly and how to show his gratitude, but then you kissed his cheek and wandered off and he wasn’t exactly sure what to do, stood there in stunned silence for a few moments; he shook his head, sighing heavily as he swallowed thickly and started to get ready. It was such a small and insignificant gesture, picking out what suit to wear to interview Billy, but at the same time, Byers could not keep it from his mind; even when he brushed his teeth, when he had his morning coffee with Langly and Jimmy and Frohike in the kitchen, he could not shake it from his mind. Things had only gotten worse when you had pulled him aside just as he was leaving, grabbing the lapels of his blazer and taking him by surprise when you planted your lips on his, giving him a second or two to kiss back, and when he did, he could feel himself drowning in you. 

“Good luck,” you had whispered against his lips when you pulled away at last, “good luck, stay safe… please, for the love of fucking everything, stay safe.”

Even when he sat in the passenger seat and allowed Frohike to drive because he was the only one that could understand your handwriting and could decipher it enough to read the directions to where they were heading, their latest destination, Byers could not shake the way you had to casually picked out his suit for the morning - it was such a small and insignificant gesture, but to him, it had meant the world and more. To Byers, it had meant every single little thing in the world and then some, and tried as he did, he could not shake it from his mind, he could not get rid of the thought of it and how it had stunned him and caused him to freeze, wide eyed and gawking in that cold room, how you had kissed his cheek before leaving, a little thing that should not have meant as much as it did, but Byers felt as if you had placed a marker on his cheek for all the world to see and to admire… but there wasn’t so much as a droplet of a mark from your lips, not to see at least, but Byers could feel it, he could feel your lips on his skin, he could feel you tangled in his arms and silently begging him to stay in your bed, he could feel you tangled in his arms as he did his best not to give in to the temptation of staying in bed with you all day and every day. He could not shake the way you had kissed him, either, how he could not help but to lean into it and allow you to drown him in something that should have been nothing, but the way your lips had scalded him and made him feel as if it was incredibly clear to see that his heart was yours despite you not wanting it, he could feel it, and he could not shake the thoughts of it, he could not shake the thoughts of that morning no matter how hard he had tried. That morning would haunt him, he knew it, and when he knocked on Billy’s door, all he could think of was getting back to you, of having you in his arms once more, of the possibility of you kissing him like that again, like your life had depended on it and like it had meant so much more than just a good luck kiss. 

“Good morning, ma’am,” Byers smiled politely when a woman with dyed blonde hair down to her waist and green eyes answered the door. “My name’s John Byers, and I’m with The Lone Gunman paper, these are my colleagues, Melvin Frohike, Ringo Langly, and Jimmy Bond… may we please come in to ask you a few questions?” 

She took a look behind her into the house before looking back at Byers and nodding. “Sure… tea or coffee, lads?” 

Three cups of coffee, one cup of hot chocolate, and Billy herself didn’t have anything, her son was still asleep in the other room she had told them, but she knew exactly what they were after, and she didn’t mind answering their questions as they sat at the cramped table, Byers choosing to stand up beside Langly instead of stealing the last chair, his arms folded across his chest and his coffee cup resting between Langly and Jimmy’s. 

“Listen, I don’t care what Charlie has to say,” Billy said, “he didn’t want Iwan. He wanted me to put him up for adoption, wouldn’t let me get an abortion when I mentioned it… that man was a bastard, which was why I left him in the end. I couldn’t have my baby around someone so… so vile.” 

Byers nodded slowly. “Did he ever hurt you, Miss Adams? Billy, did he ever hurt you, in any way? Physically, or mentally, or…” 

“He never hit me,” she replied, “but he would… he’d threaten to hurt Iwan. He would control every penny in our bank and would always have a go at me if I didn’t buy what he wanted, if I ever spent money on myself or Iwan, he’d… he’d say some fucking awful shit to me. If it weren’t for (y/n), I wouldn’t have left Charlie, I wouldn’t never be able to.” 

Frohike, Langly and Jimmy looked up at Byers, expecting him to say something, his gaze cold and hard as steel as he clenched his jaw and cleared his throat. “Right…”

“I’m bein’ serious, John,” Billy replied lowly, “he helped us get away from Charlie. He really did. And shit, he was so good with Iwan, he’d make a great dad one day, I tell you that.” 

“Really?” Byers asked, tilting his head to the side. 

“Oh, yeah,” she smiled. “I would’a never thought it ‘til I saw ‘em. But (y/n), he took to lookin’ after Iwan like a duck to water, y’know? Proper father material, he is.” 

But Byers wasn’t paying any attention, the thought you being a good father making him zone out as he thought about his dream of the white picket fence life, settling down in the suburbs somewhere, a house that wasn’t too big nor too small, maybe three bedrooms, the thought of settling down with you, having children with you, raising them together, you playing catch outside with them while he was off at work, it all made his heart melt as he did his best not to drown in those thoughts, the thoughts of fatherhood, of settling down with you, it made Byers sigh dreamily as he seemed to stare at the cupboard behind Billy with great intensity; when little Iwan came running into the room crying for his mum, Byers snapped out of his daydream, and smiled at the child for a second before turning his attention back to the mother. 

“I am so sorry, Billy, I’m really sorry, should we-” 

“No, it’s okay,” Billy shook her head, turning to little Iwan, who was, indeed, the spitting image of his father. “Baby, Mummy’s gotta answer a few of the nice gents’ questions, alright? Go watch some telly, I’ll be there in a bit, okay?”

Iwan nodded and agreed to do as his mother said, running into the other room and switching the television on, the sound of early morning cartoons drifting into the kitchen as Byers smiled at Billy. “Cute kid.” 

“I, uh, I don’t want him to know,” she replied, “I mean, I don’t want him to know what his father did to those people. I don’t want him to grow up knowing that his father was a monster.” 

“I get it,” Langly nodded. 

“Yeah, it’s perfectly understandable,” Frohike agreed with a reassuring smile. 

“We’ll do everything we can to ensure that for you and for Iwan,” Byers assured her. “If you’d prefer, though, we could come back later on today to continue this.” 

“Nah, it’s fine, lads,” Billy shook her head as she stood up, approaching the fridge, she pulled out some bananas and oranges and kale and apples before dumping them into her blender and sighing heavily, but when she pressed the on button, her words were drowned out. “Y’know, John, (y/n) told me about how much he loved you, how sweet he was on you, and I really wanted things to work out for you, I really did… but that was why (Y/n) and Charlie fought, it was because of you. Because (y/n) couldn’t move on from you, John.” 

But nobody had heard a thing she had said whilst the blender was on, and it was then that the Gunmen knew that they would have no such luck gaining new information from Billy, at least not any that could be used in their paper; so, they headed back to your place after some quiet deliberation, thanking her profusely and wishing her luck and telling her that if she wanted or needed anything, then she could go to them, she had the Gunmen to turn to. They were back at your place just in time to see you stood against the kitchen counter with a cigarette. 

“Well, shit, it ain’t even dinner,” you chuckled, your gaze immediately going to Byers. “What happened?” 

“Billy didn’t have any information,” Frohike shrugged. 

“What, none at all?” You questioned. “Like, fuck all?” 

“Absolutely nothing,” Langly grumbled. 

“Are you sure?” You asked. 

“You were right about the kid,” Jimmy said with a small smile. “He looks just like that guy.” 

“Told you,” you smiled back, patting Jimmy’s back as he passed, but when Byers approached, all you could do was frown. “Don’t take it to heart, John.” 

“We’re at a dead end,” Byers lamented. “Right now, all we have is stuff the cops already know, and what’s the use in that? That doesn’t give the people the full story, it doesn’t-” 

You planted your lips on his cheek for a split second, which made him fall silent, in turn making you roll your eyes. “You’re overthinking and spiralling, John… coffee?” 

“Please,” he whined. 

“I’ll take one, too!” Came the three voices from the table, making you laugh softly for a moment before you shrugged and gestured for Byers to go sit with them, leaving you to make five cups of coffee - it was a good thing that you had an extra large bag of sugar stored away in the cupboard, and an even better thing that you had another three jars of coffee stashed away, too. But as you handed them the coffees once they were made, you 

could practically feel the woe and the regret and the confusion coming from them, making you hum lowly as you examined what they had already. 

“Say,” you scratched at your cheek for a moment, furrowing your brows as you looked at the folders that were gutted and sprawled out on your kitchen table. “You guys did search Billy’s flat, right? Like, you checked the flat for shit?” 

Byers shook his head, looking up at you with a raised brow. “Why would we do that?”

“She kept a few of Charlie’s things,” you explained, “when they broke up, I mean, she kept some of shit and put it in a… a, ah fuck, what’s it called? It’s like a fucking box.” 

“A briefcase?” Langly shrugged. 

“Safe?” Frohike guessed. 

“A shoebox?” Jimmy asked. 

You shook your head, groaning in irritation as you tried to find the word that you wanted, the one you needed so desperately but could not think of; you knew exactly what it looked like, a large box that sat on the edge of her bed, leather and with golden engravings. “Fuck, I can’t think… it’s like… it’s like a fucking chest, but a little bit smaller, it’s a fucking… whatchamacallit, motherfuckers had them back in the medieval ages or some bullshit… can’t think of the fucking word.”

“A coffer?” Byers said at last, smiling brightly when you snapped your fingers and sighed with relief. 

“That fucker!” You exclaimed, nodding. “Yeah, Billy keeps a coffer of all the shit she kept from Charlie, should be at the end of her bed or in a corner or something, I’m not sure, but she definitely has one, I fucking know, I helped her fucking fill the thing.”

Byers frowned, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. “But how are we supposed to get to it?”

“Break-in,” Langly and Frohike shrugged, sharing a look and a quick smile before they continued to sift through the information and evidence and statements that they already had collected together. 

“Hey, you’re a lock-picker,” Jimmy said, looking up at you as he tilted his head. “Why don’t you break-in for us so we can look through it?” 

You shook your head, waving him off with a chuckle and a scoff. “No, I’m too out of practice for that these days, Jimmy.” 

“Please?” Jimmy asked, flashing the puppy-dog eyes. 

“Yeah, c’mon, (y/n),” Langly pleaded, “please?” 

“It would only make sense if you did,” Frohike added, “you’re the one here with the experience with that stuff, after all.” 

“Guys, I’d love to, but my lockpicking days are very much over,” you shrugged, grabbing your coffee cup and taking a long swig from it. “I ain’t much good to no one these days, I’m ‘fraid. I’m real sorry to disappoint you, but… my lockpicking days are behind me, I’m too out of practice, I’m rustier than a nail that’s been left out in the rain.” 

All attention turned to Byers now, with you pleading for him to back you up, to say that you weren’t good enough to pick locks any more, and the Gunmen looking at him and pleading for him to convince you to pick Billy’s lock, just one simple lock; it took him a moment to decide what to do, but he had confidence in your skills, no matter how rusty and seemingly useless, he had trust in you that you would be able to do it, he knew that you could. So, he met your gaze, and he sighed. 

“I trust your skills,” Byers told you. “I know they’ve been out of use for a long time, but… please, (y/n)?” 

Fuck, those stupid puppy dog eyes, making you weak at the knees as you sucked in a breath between your teeth, unable to keep your eyes from his face as you dared to sigh heavily, throwing up your hands in fake surrender as you grumbled and shrugged, anything to stop him from making you so weak and powerless with just one look, just those damn fucking puppy dog eyes that you could never say no to. “Fine, fucking fine. I’ll pick the lock, and I’ll get you inside… but it’ll have to be later tonight, while Billy’s working, it won’t be too much of a problem, but I ain’t doing shit while her or Iwan’s around, got it?” 

The Gunmen sang your praises for it, cheering at you and praising you and thanking you profusely, their gratitude definitely seeping through, but you waved them off and shook your head, deciding to leave them to it for the time being; you left them there for a good while, escaping to your room and choosing to drown yourself in your bedding, it smelled so much like Byers, and you had left his dressing gown blanketed on the pillows, making you smile a little as you cuddled up to it and sighed heavily. You were nervous, if you were honest, as  although you knew very much that you could have picked Billy’s front door’s lock, you had not picked one in a long, long time, and you were definitely out of practice - what if you let them down? What if you disappointed them massively? What if they all laughed at you because you couldn’t do it? Fuck, how would Byers feel to know that all of his faith and confidence and trust had been misplaced? He would almost certainly hate you for it, he would almost certainly hate you for ruining his article and putting his job at risk… because he trusted you, he had confidence in you, he had faith in you, he believed you could do it, and if you let him down… well, that would just be the cherry on the top for why you would never be good enough for him, wouldn’t it? Fuck, what were you going to do? What were you supposed to do in such a situation? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck. Fuck. You were an idiot, why didn’t you just say no? It was better to decline and move on and not embarrass yourself and show that you would never be good enough for the man that you loved so much, wasn’t it? Surely it was. Almost certainly it was better to let him down straight away by declining, rather than go out and make an idiot of yourself and show how you could never and would never deserve him, wasn’t it? It had to be, didn’t it? In it’s own way, it had to be. Pressure had settled in your head, and you were starting to overthink, you supposed, until you rolled over and saw Byers approaching the door, gently knocking on it. 

“Can we talk?” 

“Fuck…” you grumbled, sitting up and nodding, swiping a hand down your face. “Sure, come on in.”

Awkwardly, Byers sat beside you, his hands folded in his lap as he bit as the inside of his lip. “I’m sorry I put you on the spot back there, I shouldn’t have done that, but… good lord, (Y/n) I’ve seen what you can do, I’ve seen your skills, and I know you can do this… and even if you can’t, that’s…” he swallowed thickly, shaking his head. “That’s not going to change my opinion of you at all.” 

You raised a brow as you looked up at him with a frown. “Promise?” 

Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, Byers pulled you in close, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as he gently rubbed your arm, his hand going up and down and making you relax, melting against him as he dared to nod and to hum softly. “Of course I promise… just because you can’t do one thing doesn’t mean I…” it didn’t mean that he would love you any less, “doesn’t mean I’ll look at you any differently than I do, now. I have full confidence in you, and I believe you can do this, (Y/n), but at the same time, if you can’t, then nobody’s going to hold it against you. Me and the guys… we get it. It’s okay.” 

You glanced up at him for a second before nodding, letting your arm go around his waist as you let out a heavy and burdensome sigh. “I just don’t wanna fuck up your article, I know how much that paper means to you guys… I don’t wanna fuck it up, John, I really don’t. I do not wanna fuck it up.” 

“You won’t,” he replied softly, “promise, you won’t. No matter what happens, you’re not going to cause any damage, okay? You know that, right? No matter what happens, you won’t be messing anything up and you certainly won’t be causing damage.” 

“But-” 

“No buts,” the slightly more commanding snap in his voice made you squirm into him more, biting at the inside of your lip as a delightful shiver ran down your spine, but he continued, “no buts, (Y/n). No matter what happens tonight, no matter how badly you might mess up, I’ve got you. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

It was as if there was something about Byers, perhaps the way he spoke, perhaps the way he held you, that made you convince yourself that everything was going to be just fine, he gave you a certain level of confidence that nobody else could even come close to, and while you were grateful for it on a level that you could not quite comprehend, you did also feel like it would be your downfall; that the confidence he gave you would make you cocky and arrogant, self-assured, and that was never a good thing - cocky and arrogant and self-assured meant more chance of messing up, but all the same, you could not help but to be reassured by his words and by his touch; you could not help but to feel just confident enough to know that you could do it, to shrug the pressure off. 

“Get out, I gotta get dressed,” you hummed, not even attempting to make an effort to move him or to get out of his embrace in the slightest. “Unless if you wanna see me naked?” 

Kissing you on the forehead gently, Byers stood up, patting your shoulder before he nodded and let out a soft sigh. “You know if you’re that nervous, you can always talk to me, or Jimmy, or Langly or Frohike, right?” 

“I know,” you replied softly, nodding as you gazed up at him. “I know, John, I just… you know what I’m like.”

“I know,” he whispered, licking his lips. He could still taste you on them, he could still feel the kiss burning his flesh as he flashed you the puppy dog eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I always am,” you chuckled with a shrug, although he could see the pain in your eyes, he could see the worry in them, too. “Right?”

“Right…” 

He left you to get dressed, finding solace in hiding away in his own room, thinking of the kiss, thinking of how you had picked out his suit, thinking of the way you wished him luck and how you had kissed his cheek earlier, his head swimming with thoughts, all of them going back to you each and every time, even when he tried to think of something else, something completely different… they all came back to you. It always went back to you, he supposed, as much as he wanted to hide it and push it away, Byers knew that his feelings were starting to get the better of him, he just knew. And tonight would testify that in a way, he thought. 


	6. Chapter 6

That night, under the cover of darkness, you set out to Billy’s flat with the Lone Gunmen, crouching by the door as you carefully tried to pick the lock without breaking it, which did take a lot longer than you had remembered it taking when you had picked the very same kind of locks during your younger years, but all the same, you couldn’t help but to breathe out a sigh of relief when the door creaked open with one little push, and while Jimmy and Frohike and Langly snuck inside, you shot Byers a look; he looked so utterly proud of you, as if you had done the greatest trick in the book and in the world, he couldn’t help but to smile as he leaned in close enough to whisper without anyone else hearing. 

“I’m proud of you. Well done.” 

Those words meant so much, too much, to you and made your head spin as you dared to grin back at him before heading inside; but while he would never admit it, you could tell that Byers had never really been entirely on board with the idea of breaking into someone’s flat for just a few scraps of information, he was hesitant to search the large-ish flat, and if you were honest, you didn’t feel entirely great about it, either. Billy was your friend, even if you had not seen her since you had gone off-grid, she was still your friend, and you did feel incredibly guilty about breaking into her flat. But even still, you both went along with it, helping Jimmy and Langly and Frohike to search for the coffer, which she had left beneath her bed, whilst also searching for scraps here and there to piece together any pieces of evidence, any information that was to be had; they took nothing, instead just making copies of any documents on Billy’s printer, but while Frohike searched one room, and Langly searched another, and Jimmy searched a third one, and while it was cramped and crowded and almost certainly crushingly claustrophobic, you managed to pull Byers into Billy’s room, your back against the door as he instinctively placed his hands on the white wood either side of your head, keeping himself at arm’s distance as he started to breathe a little more heavily, his eyes wild as he looked down at your lips, letting you place one hand at the back of his head, the other resting at the base of his neck as you swallowed thickly, your gaze being drawn down his lips, your tongue darting out to wet your own as your own breathing hitched in your throat. Fuck, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him in that moment, the thrill of being caught by his friends, his colleagues, his companions, the closest thing he ever had to siblings, alongside the sheer rush of the events - picking the lock, breaking it - all of it was making you shiver and squirm with adrenaline as you let out a soft whine and finally looked back into Byers’ eyes, the cyan so bright even in the pitch black darkness of the room. It was like you had an itch that only he could scratch, you needed his assistance with it, and how you longed for him to thrill you, chill you, fulfill you, to make you feel all the things that you had longed to feel since the day you had met him; the need for your itch to be scratched was only growing, though, and you bit down on your bottom lip so harshly that could feel the flesh peel and bud with fresh dewdrops of red rain as you let out a whine. 

“John…” you murmured, ghosting your lips against his for a moment, begging for it, begging for him to kiss you. “Fuck… please fucking kiss me.” 

Byers hesitated for a moment, gawking at you, not used to being so forward, but even still, he leaned in slowly, giving you time to back away and change your mind if you wanted to - but then you caught him halfway, and his eyes widened for a moment before he fully allowed himself to drown within the kiss, letting you tug at him to pull him that little bit closer. God, he had no experience being so forward and he wasn’t sure what he was doing, but you seemed more than eager to give up control and to let him try and find out - he was never one to be so forward, but even still, he could not push down the beating of his heart and he could not help but to follow  what his body was telling him - he was kissing back, which he thought was surprising, and soon enough, he let his hand slip so that his forearm was against the door, his free hand going down to gently cup your jaw, his beard was tickling your skin ever so sweetly as he continued to kiss you, losing himself, letting his soul be blessed by the way you kissed him, so eager, so wanting, filled with feelings that he knew all too well were going to be left unsaid, feelings that were never to be discussed, never to be brought to the light of day regardless of what happened or what went on in public. Byers knew that you would never talk about those feelings, as much as he would have liked to, as much as he would have wanted to, but he didn’t dare to voice his opinion on that, choosing instead to simply let himself drown in the kiss itself, choosing to sacrifice air for the feeling of your lips on his. He didn’t know when he would feel such a thing again, he didn’t know if you would dare to kiss him again after this. He hoped so, he hoped you would kiss him again, he hoped he would feel such a thing again. He hoped. He hoped so much that, when you pulled away, he let out a soft gasp, seemingly hoping that the moment would last forever. Not knowing that you wished for the exact same, for the moment to never pass you by like a great romance ignored. 

You could still taste him on your lips as you whined and swallowed thickly, unsure of what to say; even in the dim room, the darkness of night very much fallen and casting everything in shadowy blue, you could see that Byers was flustered and nervous, that he wasn’t entirely sure what had come over him and what had caused him to be so bold and so forward with you, so instead, you pulled him in for another kiss, pleasantly surprised when he caught on nearly immediately and delved right back into the kiss, making you moan and shudder with pleasure when he gingerly swiped his tongue along your bottom lip. You eagerly gave him access. You eagerly gave up your own breath just to drown in his kiss. Parting was such sweet sorrow, a sensation of coldness running through your body when Byers pulled away to catch his breath, to stop himself from being consumed by the waves of kisses, breathing heavily, shaking as he let go of you, shaking his head as he took a step back and shook his head. 

“I am so sorry, good lord, I don’t know-” 

“John.” You brought your foot up to rest against the door as you folded your arms across your chest, frowning a little. 

“I am so, so sorry, (y/n), I-” 

“John.” You repeated, raising a brow, tilting your head to the side as you licked your lips to savour the way that his had felt against them. 

“Good grief, what did I-” 

“John,” finally he looked at you, featured softening, his entire attention focused on you, nothing else for the moment, just you, only you. “John, I asked you to kiss me. You didn’t have to. Why are you apologising?” 

“Because I shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly. “It’s not… I wasn’t… you know… I’m not…” 

“Let me guess, pretty boy,” you chuckled, slowly approaching him, gripping his tie when he was close enough, shaking your head fondly when he swallowed thickly at the closeness. “You weren’t brought up that way, it’s not right because it’s not proper, and you’re not that kinda guy - that sound about right?” 

Byers grumbled, nodding as he looked into your eyes, sighing heavily. “You know that I was brought up to… only do that when I was with someone.” 

“Think of it as a good luck kiss,” you murmured, letting go of his tie and taking a step back, making him whine softly as you shot him a smirk. “That’s alright in your little book of rules, right?” 

He nodded again, biting his tongue and doing everything in his power not to tell you to wait, to stop talking so that he could tell you how he felt, how you made him feel, how consuming your kiss was, how he wished to drown in it, he wanted to tell you to wait, to hang back a second just so that he could speak to you, but then you made your way to the window, and he furrowed his brows. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m leaving,” you told him softly, shrugging. “My work here’s done, innit?” 

“Well, of course, but-” 

“I’ll see you at home, John.” You looked at him so fondly before shooting him a wink and climbing out of the window, leaving Byers in a state of melancholic confusion; on the one hand, his head was still spinning from the kiss, he was still very much flustered and pleasantly vexed from it, but on the other hand, you didn’t hang along for long after it, choosing to sneak out of the window as if his kiss was the reward you had been seeking, a bounty you had finally lassoed and hogtied. What game were you playing with him? He couldn’t be entirely sure, but he was still somewhat breathless as he swallowed thickly and joined his friends in searching the flat.

Unknown to any of them, you had snuck out for fear of confessing how you felt to Byers, walking down the desolate streets with the collar of your coat turned up and your hands stuffed into your pockets, your gaze focused on the ground as you wandered around all of the backstreets and alleyways, you knew that the Gunmen wouldn’t be too long, you knew you had enough time to sniff around your own city for a few moments and clear your head for a while before even thinking of going back to their little Mystery Machine. You had time to sort through your own thoughts like a pile of unmarked and unlabelled files. Files, files, files, but your most recent one had done something to your brain that you could not quite figure out just yet - you needed time, you needed a few moments to think, to think and not be disturbed, to think and to have your heart get in the way of it. No distractions. No disturbances. No anything. Just you, and your own mind, and the empty and desolate streets that you knew so well that you could walk them without even needing to check where you were; just you and the streets that you used to own. Just you and your streets. Just you and your thoughts. Fuck, you just wanted to run back to Byers and tell him how much you loved him, how much you yearned and ached and pined and longed and needed and wanted to be his, how much you wanted him to be yours just as much in return, how much he meant to you and every single little thing you would ever do for him, all the little things that you would do for him if he just gave you a - no. You didn’t deserve him. You weren’t good enough for him. You weren’t deserving of his love, and you knew it all too well. It had gone on for long enough, you needed to quit. You needed to quit thinking about the impossible and the utterly bizarre, such as being able to tell him you loved him, all the way through to being able to introduce yourself as (y/n) Byers and to live with him and to cuddle him at night and to love him each and every day, no matter what, no matter who tried to split you up, no matter what happened. But those thoughts had to end. They were impossible, implausible, stupid, idiotitc, you knew all too well that you weren’t good enough for him, that you didn’t deserve him, that you would just end up hurting him because he was so out of your league that you were twenty-thousand and counting down. No. You had to move on. 

Wandering around town, you wondered and pondered how you would ever even tell Byers that you loved him so dearly, that if he were a toxic substance, you would never want the antidote, that you would be addicted to him because he was toxic; but as you wandered around, looking down at the ground and pondering your own feelings, you failed to notice that you had been caught by someone, not someone who recognised you, but someone who sensed a distressed soul. A kindly old man, he must have been around seventy or eighty, walking a fairly young Alsatian dog on a lead, walked up to you, laying his hand on your shoulder and frowning. 

“What is it, my boy?” He asked softly, his accent thick and like that of a farmer’s, his brown eyes filled with worry as he frowned and allowed his dog to sniff around your feet. “You seem upset, walkin’ ‘round ‘ere with your ‘ands in your pocke’s and lookin’ down at the ground… c’mon, tell old Charles ‘bout it, lad.” 

You sighed, shrugging as you shot him a frown and squatted down to pat his dog, running your hand through the long brown fur and relaxing slightly as the dog leaned into your touch. “I just… you ever been in love, Sir?” 

“Sure,” Charles nodded. “Plen’y times. Someone go’ya down?” 

You shrugged again, licking your lips and sighing heavily, looking up at him as you continued to gently pet the dog, humming lowly. “Something like that, yeah…” 

“I’m sorry, lad,” he frowned, shaking his head. “Bein’ in love’s a tricky fuckin’ thing, innit?” But he cracked a smile. “But, look, you made a friend in Barry. Seems a like you, be your best mate if you keep smoothin’ ‘im like that, he will.”

“Thank you,” you looked up at him and shot him a soft smile. “You and Barry, thank you.” 

“It’s alright,” the old man tutted, smiling back at you broadly. “You mate two mates today, lad, and I can tell you’ll be alright.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked with a raised brow. 

“I mean, you’re a youngin,” he explained, “you got all the time in the world a figure out what the fuck love is, you got all the time in the world a sort yourself out. You’ll be alright. Just try not a worry, yeah?” He paused, shrugging. “And y’know what?” 

“What?” 

“Love can be a very fuckin’ tricky thing,” he started, “but when you find the right person, it can seem a lot fuckin’ trickier… but then you tell ‘em ‘ow you feels, and it ain’t so bad, really, becomes a lot easier after that. Trust me, trust an old man when he says you ain’t got nothin’k a worry ‘bout. Not a fuckin’ thing. You’ll know when you’ve found someone that makes love a li’l easier - ‘cause at first, you’ll be a fuckin’ wreck.” 

“Thanks,” you gave Barry a final pat on the head and a scratch behind the ears before you stood back up, wiping light brown fur on your jeans, you extended your hand. “(Y/N).” 

“Pleasure,” Charles shook your hand, and although he was certainly elderly, he still shook it with a youthful vigour. “Now go on, run along and get ‘ome. Ain’t safe this time a night.” 

You bid him goodbye before you continued walking, daring to run along back to the van and wait for the Gunmen, smoking cigarettes to pass the time, smiling when they finally came out of the flat, Byers gently closing the door behind him, knowing he snagged the automatic lock so that it would be as if nothing had ever happened, an uneasy look on his face as he dared to trail behind his friends, his colleagues, his companions, his siblings. His hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers as he dragged his feet, fuck, he looked so sad and all you could do was whine lowly as you knitted your brows together and raised them slightly, frowning. 

“Byers said you went home,” Langly said when they drew close enough, the other trio far behind them, they swallowed thickly. 

“Yeah, no, I was gonna but… long walk, innit?” You tried to play it cool, you tried to play it as if you had not almost bared your soul to some old man and his dog for no reason other than for the fact that you had no idea what you were doing, your head was still foggy and running on for far too long, running as if it would never stop. 

But Langly noticed that, and they took a quick look around before laying their hand on your shoulder and getting in a little bit closer, as if they were about to tell you some scandalous and awful secret, but instead, they smiled and muttered ever so kindly, “how about tomorrow, me and you take a walk around town and talk?” 

“I’d like that,” you agreed with a nod and a small, sad, smile. “Thanks, Ringo.” 

“It’s okay,” Langly nodded back, letting go of your shoulder, but not before giving it a little squeeze. “Just don’t tell the guys - just us.” 

“Sure thing,” you agreed. “I mean, I managed to stay off-grid whilst living in the town I grew up in, keeping secrets comes naturally.” 

Langly chuckled at that, running a hand through their blond hair as they leaned against the van beside you. “For the record, though? Byers is kinda going through a crisis right now.” 

“A crisis?” You questions, furrowing your brows and shaking your head. “You don’t mean he-” 

“Not a midlife crisis, thankfully,” they assured with a quiet laugh. “Since you two went into that bedroom, he’s been… I dunno, I think he just wants to talk to you, man - but we’ll talk about it tomorrow, me and you.” 

“Me and you,” you nodded curtly, returning your gaze to the approaching Gunmen, you yanked open the door, climbing in after Langly and Jimmy while Frohike and Byers took the seats at the front - Byers was driving this time. 

Byers was quiet, not having expected to see you before returning to your place, after all, you did say that you would see him at home and it… it confused him; but no more than the fact that he wanted to talk to you, desperately, he wanted to talk to you about all the feelings that he had for you, about every single little thing that he was feeling for you and how and why, there was a kind of urgency to it, he felt, as if if he failed to talk about it soon, his very heart would burst inside his chest and fill up his bloodstream with rotten and gangrenous feelings that had festered for far too long… but all the same, maybe that kiss was just ancient history. Maybe all of it was ancient history that he was just watching unfold. Maybe this was just the chapter of the history book that explained why such a thing would have never worked in the first place. Maybe this was an invention that was out of time and would be forever buried in ancient history and never understood nor put on display. As much as he wanted to write you down like ancient history and to show you off like it, letting all the world read how much he loved you and how much he always cared for you, maybe this ancient history was just destined to be forgotten like Atlantis. Maybe this ancient history wasn’t meant to be written down for all the world to read and to know, to feel, what Byers had felt for you and still felt for you and always would feel for you. Maybe this ancient history needed to be buried. 

But on the way back, Byers would check over his shoulder every now and then, looking back at you and Jimmy and Langly to see you all piled up like puppies; your head was on Langly’s legs, Langly was resting their head on Jimmy’s chest, Jimmy was stretched out with one arm around Langly and on hand on your head, Langly’s hands were half on Jimmy and half on you. It made Byers smile a little each time he took a glance, wishing he could have taken a photograph - to see the man he loved more than anything so comfortable around two of his most trusted associated, the man he loved more than anything so comfortable around two of the three people he  considered siblings, it wasn’t something he would forget. He liked the fact that you had a budding friendship with them, he really did. 

Langly was quiet when they snuck into your room in the early hours of the morning, not quite used to getting up so early themselves, they were only half-dressed as they lazily shoved you at the shoulder, grumbling your name as you refused to get up, refused to budge, instead grabbing their hand and nearly pulling them down onto the bed with you until they said your name with a little bit more force and you finally stirred; you yawned loudly as you sat up, your mouth opening so wide that, for a moment, Langly thought that you would break your own jaw or at least dislocate it like a snake, but to their surprise, you simply smacked your lips together and stared up at them with a groggy gaze, your eyes clouded over with tired fog. 

“Hey, Ringo,” you grumbled, stretching your arms above your head and hissing at the feeling of scabs cracking on your arms, you soon placed your hands in your lap and did your best to come to. “Shit… is it tomorrow already?”

“Yeah,” they yawned, covering their mouth with their hand and nodding. “You wanna go for a walk?” 

You nodded, waving at them. “Lemme get dressed first, yeah?”

“I’ll wait outside,” they told you softly, leaving the room and closing the door behind them, they stood in front of it, yawning and trying to rid themselves of their own tiredness, but when Byers came out of his room, Langly stiffened and tried to ask as if everything was fine and that they had not planned to go on a secret walk with you at whatever time it was. “Hey, Byers.” 

“Hey, Ringo,” Byers hummed, his voice was still weighed down by melancholic confusion, a towel thrown over his shoulder as he cleared his throat and slowly nodded. “I’m gonna take a shower, let the other guys know when they wake up.” 

“Yeah, no, nobody wants to see your junk, Byers,” Langly teased with a light heart, hoping to make their friend smile. “Except (y/n).” 

Byers rolled his eyes and scoffed, shaking his head as he made his way to the bathroom, nearly slamming the bathroom door shut at the same time that you opened your bedroom door. 

“Did you just say what I think you did?” You asked with a raised brow, looking at them with an expression that was anything but amused. 

Langly shrugged, folding their arms across their chest, but not before rolling their sleeves up to their elbows. “I had to act natural, man.” 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, shaking your head as you disappeared behind the door again; but this time, Langly left your door in favour of heading to their bedroom and finishing off getting dressed and ready - they met you in the hallway and climbed down the stairs with you, pausing to lie to Frohike and Jimmy by saying that you were going shopping and giving Langly a lift to a local place, a pub or something; outside, the air was frighteningly cold, nearly icy and biting down on your flesh through your clothes with ease, as if it could sneak its way through the fabric so easily just to clamp down on your rotten skin. It made you seethe and wince as you grumbled lowly and cupped your hands around your mouth, breathing heavily into them before rubbing them together furiously as you dared to shiver. For a while, you and Langly walked in a semi-awkward silence, wanting to get far enough away from the house before they dared to speak up at last. 

“So, what’s going on?” They spared you a glance, letting you link your arm with theirs in order to steal an extra little bit of warmth, ice cracking and breaking beneath your feet very much like the scabs on your arms did. Uncannily so, at that. As just as your wounds had oozed when they broke apart, so did the ice on the ground, and it made you recoil in disgust each time you noticed it. 

“Honestly?” You shrugged, swiping a hand down your face and letting your teeth chatter slightly. “I’m not so fucking sure, Ringo, I don’t… fuck, man, I don’t know what the fuck is going on.” 

“Talk to me,” they nudged you slightly, softly and friendly, a little light-hearted shove. “Promise I won’t make too much fun of you.” 

You shook your head, looking down at the oozing ice and grumbling in odium at how much it was like your scabs; fuck, it was a vile thought, but you couldn’t help but to think of it, you couldn’t help but to notice how the dewdrops that leaked over the ice on either side acted exactly like the semi-transparent orange sticky fluid that came from your scabs and ran down your skin. “I’m so glad I didn’t eat today, fuckin’ Hell…” 

Langly raised a brow at you, noticing how you looked at the ice with such abhorrence that it was impossible to ignore; sure, Byers had mentioned that you weren’t exactly in good shape, something about your arms being coated in lesions and scabs that would crack whenever you bent your arm or stretched it, scabs that would itch and sting at the slightest amount of pressure. But they never thought much of it, thinking that it was just a mere scratch from a bramble or from being knocked on the corner of something, but when they saw the disgust on your face and how nauseous you looked as you stared down at the ice, they knew it ran deeper than that, they knew that there was something more going on that you had not told them about, something that only Byers had known, and while they were all for respecting your privacy, they had a feeling that they had to know what was going on, they had a feeling that they had to know why you looked at the ground with such pure and utter and complete repulsion, as if it had wronged you so badly that it could never be forgiven nor forgotten. “Byers mentioned something about your arms… you wanna talk about it?” 

“Ah, just a bit mangey,” you replied, shrugging them off as you cleared your throat and turned your gaze to the horizon, instead. “Not, like, actual mange, just… few scabs here and there, y’know? Nothing to worry about too much… not unless if you’re Byers, in which case, it’s apparently the most painful thing to see in the world.” 

Langly frowned, tilting their head as they looked at you, a low hum coming from the back of their throat as they dared to look at your arms, sure, your sleeves looked a bit puffy and a like there was some sort of stuffing there, but they didn’t think much of it at first… until now. “Did he patch you up?” 

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I thought he was gonna cry, in all honesty… he fucking never liked doing that shit. But then again, neither did I.” 

“What do you mean?” Langly asked, sure, they knew about the things that Bertram had done to Byers as a child, they knew about the beatings and the groundings, but they didn’t think it had ever escalated to that point, to the point where a younger Byers, who was scared and hurt, would need patching up. 

“I’m pretty sure me and Byers used to take turns patching each other up,” you chuckled sadly, bitterly, before you tensed up and clenched your jaw and spoke through gritted teeth, “fuck, the amount of times I wanted to rip his old man’s throat out…” 

“Who could blame you?” They scoffed, shaking their head. “Byers’ dad is a dick.” 

“He’s a fucking cunt is what he is,” you hissed. “All the shit he put John through? Nah, fuck that cunt. If I ever see him, I’m gonna fucking have him. I’m gonna fucking tear him to shreds.” 

Langly caught on, then, they caught on as to why Byers kept mentioning your name whenever he had a nightmare, as if he was trying to call out for you to come and save him; it clicked, in that moment, and they realised that what was between you and Byers went far beyond what anyone had thought - you were his protector, and they guessed that he was yours, too. Always protecting each other, sticking up for one another, always making sure the other was safe… it all made sense. Not to mention, Langly could definitely see why Byers had fallen for you regardless of the past. 

“Is this the temper that Byers told us about?” They joked, teasing as they smiled at you, making you roll your eyes as you chuckled. 

“No, that’s not the temper,” you shook your head. “That’s… it’s different.” 

“I can see,” Langly nodded slowly, licking their lips as they dared to let out a shiver, the cold finally getting to them. “You really would guard him with your life, wouldn’t you?”

You raised a brow as you looked at them, a small smile on your lips, your head tilted ever so slightly as you let out a sigh, slow and gruff, the air around it becoming a light and pale grey. “What do you think?”

“Y’know, when we first came over to your place, we weren’t exactly sure that you were safe, I mean, we thought maybe Byers had been tricked,” they shrugged. “But… you’re cool, (y/n). It helps that you have good taste in music.” 

“Good to know my music taste was what turned you around,” you jested with a soft chuckle, nudging them in the side and grinning. “You should’ve been there when I first introduced Byers to fucking Slayer.” 

“You didn’t,” they shook their head, although their grin was beaming and wide, a twinkle of curious mischief in their eyes. 

“Oh, I fucking did,” you laughed softly, nodding and looking quite smug and quite proud of yourself for such an achievement. “It was golden.” 

“Did he cry?” langly asked, raising their brow. 

You shook your head, wheezing in order to contain a laugh. “No! Well… he got close. But, more importantly, I have never heard a man say so many variations of good grief and good lord in my fucking life! I could’ve sworn he was gonna fucking run away from me that day! Like, nope, you’re alright, but fuck that!” 

Leaning into you, using you for support, Langly let out a barking laugh. “Can I please use that against him?” 

“Maybe,” you chortled. “Maybe if he pisses me off enough one day... we really fucking had some real good memories, me and Byers. Some really fucking good ones.” 

“(Y/N), if you don’t mind me asking, but… do you have feelings for Byers?” They questioned, although it was soft, not full of malice or mischief, simply one friend asking another to reveal a secret that would be kept close to the heart. 

“Of fucking course I do, Ringo,” you nodded, licking your lips and looking up at the sky. “I’d be such a fucking idiot if I didn’t have feelings for that square son of a bitch.” 

Your words prompted Langly as they stopped in their tracks and frowned, tilting their head to the side and furrowing their brows; sure, they were cold, colder than they had been when Byers had dragged them along to try and catch that guy that was killing all the grizzly bears, but in that moment, the cold didn’t matter. What mattered was trying to help you admit your feelings for Byers, and for that, they would have stood naked in the arctic in the middle of winter, during a snowstorm. “What happened?” 

“What do you mean?” You asked, raising a brow. “Like, what happened to me and Byers? What happened to JFK? You gotta be a bit more specific here, Ringo, there’s a lot of answers to ‘what happened’, mate.” 

Langly sighed, shaking their head as they swallowed thickly and thought of the best way to phrase it for a second, but then they decided that they didn’t need to think about it, so they shrugged and simply asked, “why didn’t you and Byers, y’know, become a thing? Why didn’t you get together?” 

You scoffed, rubbing the back of your neck and running the tip of your tongue along your bottom lip, trying to think of the best way to answer it and the best way to actually word the answer you wanted to give, but words didn’t come to easily, words never came so easily, and you were far from Shakespeare or William Blake or Lord Byron, you were far from a poet. “Fuck, man… well, for a start, I could never tell Byers how I actually felt for him.” 

“You couldn’t?” They hummed. 

“I couldn’t, I mean, sure, I told him I loved him back then when, y’know, when he ran into me and all that fucking jazz bullshit,” you started, “but fuck me, back then? I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t, and I didn’t and now… fuck, now it’s just scary.” 

“What do you mean?” Langly’s concern was growing, their worry for you was growing, they wanted you and Byers to be happy. 

“Fucking Hell...” you grumbled, shaking your head for a moment before biting down on your bottom lip and letting out a low and loud groan. “It’s all a fucking act, Ringo… the coolness, the charm, the whole bullshit - it’s a fucking mask! It’s a goddamn act! Fuck… the thought of actually telling Byers that I-” 

“That you what?” They prompted, willing you to continue. 

“That I fucking love him, the thought of telling him how I really feel is so fucking scary… it’s like… it’s the only thing I’ve ever been shit scared of in my life,” you told him with a growl. “I’ve been in some pretty fucking scary situations, Ringo, but shit… none of ‘em compare to telling Byers how I feel.” 

“What makes you so scared?” They asked softly. “I mean, you’re a good looking guy, you’re funny, you’ve got good taste in music - why are you so scared?” 

You scoffed. “You don’t get it, do you?” 

“Explain it to me.” 

“Ringo, Byers is a good guy, he’s a nice man and he’s literally too good for this world - I mean, I’ve never heard him say fuck, have you?” You raised your brow, waiting for an answer. 

“No.” 

“Exactly, he’s literally too good for this fucking world, he’s a fucking angel,” you continued, beginning to pace back and forth like a tiger in a cage that was too small, all that was missing was swaying the head from side to side. “He deserves so much better than me, he deserves someone much, much, much fucking better than I could even hope to be. Byers… he’s a goddamn prince, and fuck me, in what fairly does the fucking prince marry the pickpocketing thief?” You let out a huff of air, shaking your head before you continued to pace. “And I know that Byers would never even fucking think of looking at me the same goddamn way - I know that, no matter  what I did or said, Byers would never… he would never love me. Not in a million years. Not even in a fucking billion years, Ringo. He’d never love me…” 

“What about the kiss, back at Billy’s place?” Langly asked softly, raising their brows at you. 

Once more, you scoffed, shaking your head as you paced, now looking every bit the caged tiger, the pacing, the head swaying. “Byers kissed me out of pity. Byers kissed me because he felt fucking sorry for me - he doesn’t… he could never feel for me the way that I feel for him.” 

Langly scoffed this time, stepping in front of you and laying a hand on your shoulder as they flashed you a smile. “I know differently.” 

“I find that hard to believe,” you muttered in melancholy. 

“(Y/N), Byers never shuts up about you,” Langly admitted. “Sure, he never mentioned the name but I’m pretty sure that was for safety reasons, for your safety, he never mentioned your name but… he won’t shut up about this guy he used to know who used to patch him up and sneak through his window. Byers hasn’t shut up about you since I’ve known him, man. And I know, for a fact, that he loves you.” 

You pushed their hand from your shoulder, daring to roll your eyes. “Fuck off. Don’t… don’t give me false hope. I’ve had enough of that bullshit.” 

“It’s not false hope when I know it for a fact,” Langly dared to argue, shaking their head and tutting. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Sure I do,” you shrugged. “You’re a friend of Byers’s why the fuck wouldn’t I trust you?”

“So trust me when I say that I know for a fact that he loves you,” they pressed. “I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t know it.” 

You groaned loudly, shaking your head as you pouted and puffed out some air. “I need a fucking cigarette…” 

“Here,” Langly pulled the cigarette carton they had swiped from your kitchen counter out of their back left pocket, they pulled one from the carton and allowed you to pop it into your mouth before they pulled out a clipper lighter from the very same pocket and used one hand to cup the lighter, joining yours as they used their other hand to ignite the flame and light your cigarette. They took a step back, smiling a little. “I swiped ‘em while you weren’t looking, I thought you might want one while we’re out here.” 

“Good thinking,” you admitted with a nod as you took a long drag. “Smart… very smart, actually.” 

“You don’t get to be the number one hacker in the world just because of looks like these,” they grinned, making you roll your eyes as you shook your head. But then they looked at you with a look that you knew all too well, one that Karl and Megan and Lucy and Billy had given you time and time again. “Seriously, though, how could you… do you not see the way that Byers looks at you?”

You raised a brow, slowly shaking your head this time as you dared to flick ash down onto the ground. “He… looks at me like I’m his friend, Ringo, he doesn’t… look at me any other way.” 

Langly nearly laughed at that comment, but kept it bitten back just enough for it to come out as another scoff as they rolled their eyes and frowned. “You don’t see it? He gazes at you, (y/n).” 

“Maybe he does, but it’s just platonic,” you insisted. 

“Your definition of platonic is… kissing him good luck, and then making out with him whilst breaking and entering?” Langly asked. 

“Shut up.” You grumbled, glaring at him for a moment before starting to walk around again, slow enough that you wouldn’t slip on the ice, but fast enough that Langly had to jog a little to catch up to you. “Why are you so invested in this, anyways? What’s the point?” 

“I wanna see Byers happy,” Langly explained, “he’s my friend, and he’s my colleague, he’s my companion, but… he’s also my brother. As much as that makes me wanna puke to say it. He is… and I wanna see you happy, too.” 

“You wanna see me happy?” You asked with a smirk. “Get me a Slayer CD, a can of Red Bull and a twenty pack of Sterlings, and I’ll be the happiest motherfucker around.”

“I meant-”

“I know what you meant,” you said softly, shaking your head. “But it ain’t gonna happen. I’m sorry, mate, but it ain’t gonna happen because it fucking can’t… listen, it ain’t like I don’t wanna be with him, alright? It ain’t like that. More than anything, I wanna be with him. More than fucking anything and everything. But I know it wouldn’t work, I know that he’d never look at me that way and I know I’d never be good enough and I’d never be able to treat him like the fucking goddamn King that he is. Alright?”

“But Byers loves you,” Langly insisted, “he doesn’t care if you’re deserving, he loves you. And he doesn’t care about money, (y/n)... his own dad stopped talking to him after he quit a government job to team up with me and Frohike to create the newspaper. He doesn’t care about money, or deserving, all he cares about is if you love him, which I know-”

“I know you know that I love him,” you sighed heavily, looking up at the sky as if searching for an answer amongst the light grey shades of the sky, how it smudged so perfectly into one long grey canvas. Just fog and clouds. That was your answer, apparently, nothing but fog and cloud. Nothing. “Even if I was stupid enough, even if I was brave enough, to say the fucking words - what am I supposed to do? Just fucking… walk up to him and say  _ hey, John, I know we haven’t seen each other since goddamn ancient history times, but I’m still very much in love with you? Oh, and by the way, I never stopped loving you, so much so that I ended up ending a long-ass friendship with a guy that turned out to be a serial killer because I couldn’t move on from you! Love you!  _ Fuck no! He’d laugh at me for that shit… now I know I ain’t no Shakespeare, Ringo, but c’mon.” 

“I can help,” they offered with a shrug, although they themselves did not exactly know what you were supposed to say, either, but they supposed if they watched enough romantic-comedy films, then maybe they would find a way or two of how to confess, maybe they would come up with a few ideas that would help you to confess how you felt for their friend, their colleague, their companion, their brother. “I can help, yeah.” 

“Ringo…” you grumbled, shaking your head and looking down at the ice again, that utter look of repugnance evident and not even trying to be hidden. “I appreciate the offer, honestly, I do, but… also no. If I have to confess, which I’m not going to, I’m gonna do it on my own. I’ll fuck up the words and he’ll laugh at me, sure, without a fucking doubt that’s what’s gonna happen if I ever do tell Byers I love him, but… forget it, alright? Byers ain’t never gonna take any love confession that comes out of my mouth as anything but a fucking joke, and I can’t blame him. Look at me - do I look like the kinda guy who marries the prince? Or do I look like the guy that everybody thought was the good guy, but was really working with or for the villain the entire time? Face it, man… guys like me, we don’t marry the prince and live happily ever after. We don’t get fairy tale endings. We never have, and we never will.” 

“Can you at least try?” Langly offered, frowning as they watched you throw your finished cigarette down onto the ice, stamping on it and causing the ice to shatter and give way to murky mashland. “Please?” 

“I’d say yes, but unfortunately, I can’t,” you told them. “If I could’ve said yes, I would’ve done it a long fucking time ago, mate, but now? No.” 

Langly gave in, for now, caving in and admitting temporary defeat, but when you both returned to the house, you were in fairly high spirits; joking around and playfully pushing one another, laughing like hyenas and mad march hares, and it surprised everyone to see you both in such high spirits, but when you met Byers’ gaze, he immediately picked up on how cold you were, and rushed to cover you in his blazer to keep you warm, rubbing your arms and whispering a thousand and one little reassurances that made your knees week and your face heat up, a thousand and one little reassurances that made you lean into every touch he was offering. Fuck, did you wish you could tell him how much you loved him. 


	7. Chapter 7

The following day was spent with Byers, which you were quite glad about in all honesty, finally feeling as if all was well and fine and dandy and there was no bad blood between you, of course, there was still the elephant in the room and the question of whether or not to address it and to actually sit and talk about your own feelings, to sit and to talk about what was going on between you, what all those kisses had truly meant, why you had been so eager to drown in his kiss, why he had been so eager to drown in yours, whether or not that ancient history was truly going to be left in the past or if it was going to help you both with your future; but for the most part, you decided to ignore it, you decided not to bother too much with trying to force yourself to be open and to talk about it all, you were waiting for Byers to make the first move with it, to peel the sticky and soggy scab from the flesh, but he was waiting for you to do the same. You were both waiting to peel off that disgusting and cracked scab that had been peeling off for ages and cracked open to ooze out some awful semi-clear orange liquid that was somehow both sticky and went crusty within seconds. It was impossible for either of you to have made the first move when you were both in a stalemate and waiting for the other to give in; but somehow, spending the day together seemed promising. With Langly off talking to some people around town, Frohike fixing up the van outside, and Jimmy deciding to check out a few of the clubs, you were kind of glad to have a day alone with Byers. You were kind of glad to have more than just a few passing moments with him. An entire day to yourselves, it seemed well deserved, the Gunmen needed a break, and you were glad that they had one at last. But things started to change a little bit more with each passing moment of the day, being around Byers had made you nervous, not wanting to say or to do the wrong thing, and he was nervous enough as it was without having to carry that extra burden of not wanting to say the wrong thing to you or accidentally hurting you by causing your arms any irritation; it was incredibly awkward if you were both honest, skating around one another like a pair of figure skaters trying to outdo each other, skirting around each other yet trying to remain as close as humanly possible, wanting to be so close but so far for fear of something going wrong and being unable to be fixed. Fuck, it was certainly a rock and a hard place, that much was definitely true. You weren’t too keen on the fact that you were struggling so much to decide about whether or not to talk to him about the kisses and the fact that your ancient history of being in love with him was very much still alive and far from history; that your love had not once grown older, and was still the same now as it had been back then. 

After ripping your bandages off and setting them aside to change them, you sat down. 

Sitting you at the kitchen table, Byers pulled your chair close to his, so close that your knee was between his legs and your other leg was touching the outside of his, it made him grow flushed as he let you roll up your sleeves to expose your scabs; they were red and cracked, bits of skin flaking around them as dark red spots of dried blood stuck to the healing skin, pink flesh exposed alongside yellow-ish skin, on the one on your hand and the one on your left, he could see the pattern of tissue, and it made him frown and wince as he swallowed thickly and sighed heavily. Fuck, it looked bad. 

“I’m so sorry, (y/n), but this is going to sting, and I really need you to sit still,” Byers frowned as he grabbed the antiseptic wipes, tearing one open and gently gripping your right wrist, pulling your hand close enough that you could feel the soft material of his shirt, his blazer was draped across the back of the chair to prevent it from getting stained with your blood. His hands shook something awful. He started to wipe down the wound on your forearm, but when you seethed and flinch, he shook his head. His voice was exasperated but awfully concerned as he said, “hold still, please.” 

When he met your gaze, he couldn’t help but to let his breath hitch in his throat, frozen in time for a moment, gazing at you as you looked back at him like a wounded dog, so sad and hurt but with that shade of love that never went away; he snagged his bottom lip between his teeth, swallowing thickly and doing his best not to break eye contact, doing his best not to mess it up. But then you started to lean in, and he did, too, his breath once more hitching in his throat as the blush on his features grew deeper and darker, more red than pink as his hand trailed down your wrist to gently hold your hand, painfully aware of the aching wound on the back of it as he felt his heart begin to roar and bang against his ribs, he was absolutely convinced that you could hear it and see it against his chest. But then you pulled away. You pulled away, looking down at the floor and sighing heavily. You looked away, clearing your throat, shaking your head. 

“I’m so sorry, I-” but the words came out in complete synchronicity, they came out of your throat at the exact same way his did, and when you tried to continue, it happened again. “No, no, you go first, I-” 

“Oh, John,” you chuckled, although there was pain in your eyes. “Don’t be sorry, just…” 

“Get on with it, I know,” he nodded, gently seizing your wrist once more and pulling it close, his grip gently as he dared to continue with wiping down the exposed, vulnerable, flesh, as he dared to make you seethe and flinch and sting by wiping down your open wounds; but Byers knew, as well as anyone, he knew that it needed to be done, and he could have sworn your heart was beating in time with his when his fingers ghosted your other wrist, catching your pulse for a fleeting moment. You trusted no one but him to do such a job, to change the dressing and to wipe down the irritated and exposed wounds. In a way, he was quite honoured. Although that didn’t stop him from fighting back the tears when you growled and bared your teeth at each time that you stretched your arms for him. 

“Fucking fuck me,” you hissed, squeezing your eyes tightly shut and tensing up. “Feels like my fucking arms are ripping in half.” 

“In a way, they are,” Byers said quietly, “but they’ll heal. Trust me, they’ll heal… just don’t… good lord, that’s bad.” 

“What is?” You asked, a little bit worried as you stared at him. “Don’t fucking tell me it’s infected, Joh, don’t fucking tell me.” 

Byers shook his head, swallowing thickly. “No, no, I just… the old plasters you had, they…” 

“They what?” You asked, a little bit scared. 

Byers looked at the bandage, the soggy green scab that was more liquid than solid, how the white fabric of it had turned more yellow and green than anything, the spotted blood; heavens, it did reek, and he was surprised that you had not noticed yet. “Don’t worry too much about it, I’ll… I’ll go put them in the bin, I’ll be back.” 

“Alright,” you shrugged, clenching your jaw as the stinging shot up from your knuckles to your shoulders, making you let out a soft whine; but just before he went off to the bin, Byers paused, leaning down to kiss your forehead sweetly, immediately making you forget all about the pain in your arms… until he sat back down and brought out the plasters, making your eyes grow wide as you shook your head. “John-” 

“I’m sorry, (Y/n), you know I am, but-” 

“Don’t,” your eyes widened as you leaned into the back of your chair, shaking your head again as you looked at the plasters. “It fucking hurt like a motherfucker when you-” 

“I know,” Byers said softly. “But they’ll help you heal… I promise I’ll be gentle, okay?” 

Reluctantly, you leaned forward again, letting him gently stick the plasters to your skin, coating your arms in sticky fabric before he grabbed a two arm-length bandages, gently wrapping them around your arms to ensure that the scabs were protected and weren’t going to get anything inside of them; he was so gentle, so soft, so tender, as he patched up your wounds, he had not noticed that a little bit of blood had dripped onto his trousers and onto the cuffs of his shirt, he would not notice until much later, until he was alone and without you and would finally focus on something other than you for the day. But he was glad, if he was honest, he was glad that he had patched you up, for at least now he knew for a fact that you weren’t going to get any infections and that the wounds were clean and not at risk from getting dirty; at least now he knew that you were safe and that your wounds were clean, and that made him a lot more glad than anything else. But in that moment, you reminded him of his favourite Huey Lewis and The News song: Stuck With You. Byers would have been so happy to be stuck with you for the rest of his life, and he wanted to be able to see that you would be happy to be stuck with him for the rest of yours, he didn’t care about anything else, whether you had money, whether you were deserving of him or not, all he cared about was that you were bound to him like the same phone number and the same address, he wanted to be stuck with you, he wanted you to be happy to be stuck with him all the same. But when you got up to put your speaker on, Byers stopped you, shaking his head and offering a small smile before he himself got up and cleared his throat. 

“Wait here, please.” 

You shrugged, not thinking too much of it and letting him go and do what he needed to, but you were surprised when you heard ‘Hip To Be Square’ by Huey Lewis and The News come onto your little music device, grinning when Byers walked back into the kitchen and sat down opposite you once more, a small smile on his face. 

“Are you fucking joking?” You chuckled, raising a brow and trying not to laugh too hard. “Please tell me that you’re fucking pulling my leg, John.” 

He shook his head, furrowing his brows as he looked back at you. “I thought you liked Huey Lewis and The News?” 

You didn’t want to say it, but you couldn’t resist doing so, you really didn’t want to say it, but he just had to go and ask that question, making you stifle a laugh as you bit back your smile, gagging on your own laughter as it bubbled in your throat and threatened to spill. “Well, I mean…” you had to do it, you couldn’t stop yourself, “their early work was a little too new wave for my tastes, but when Sports came out in eighty-three, I think they really came into their own, commercially and artistically. The whole album has a clear, crisp sound, and a new sheen of consummate professionalism that really gives the songs a big boost. He’s been compared to Elvis Costello, but I think Huey has a far more bitter, cynical sense of humour. In eighty-seven, Huey released this, Fore, their most accomplished album. I think their undisputed masterpiece is Hip To Be Square, a song so catchy, most people probably don’t listen to the lyrics… but they should, because it’s not just about the pleasures of conformity, and the importance of trends, it’s also a personal statement about the band itself.” 

Byers tilted his head to the side, furrowing his brows; he had never thought that you knew so much about the band, let alone paid that much attention to them, he thought you only listened to them now and then, and it was quite a shock for him to hear you just go off on a little tangent like that. “Wow… I didn’t think you liked them that much.” 

Choking on your laughter, you did your best not to laugh at him as you tried to hold it all down. “Have you never seen American Psycho?” 

“No…” he admitted with a little shrug. “Why?” 

“Oh my fucking days,” you let out a giggle. “Okay, new plan for the day, I’m making you watch it. You’re gonna hate it, but you need to watch it, or at least, one specific part of it.” 

Anything to spend a little more time with you, anything to be able to waste more time with you, looking for a little romance and taking any half of a chance that was offered; he didn’t like gory films, he often buried his head in a pillow or jumped behind the sofa during horror films, he wasn’t the kind to sit through them for fun at all - but he was willing to do it for you, he was willing to watch American Psycho with you simply because you seemed to excited about showing it to him… and that thought alone could make him sit through three hours of the most gory horror films. He would do it quite happily, if only to be stuck with you for a moment or two more, and it gave him something else to focus on, it gave him something to focus on other than how painful it had been to see you flinch and wriggle and groan and seethe and clench your jaw whenever he wiped down your wounds; he had wanted to be gentle, and he did try, but the blood was so thick on some of them that it took a little bit of extra pressure to ensure it was off so that the new blood could form beneath the plasters and the old blood, soaked in bacteria, wouldn’t stand in the way of the healing process. So, he agreed. 

Byers sat on your bed, his shoes kicked off at the door and his tie loosened slightly, his hands in his lap as he sat with his back propped up against your pillows, looking every bit the sweet gentleman that he was while you got your American Psycho DVD out, wincing when you had to move your arms a little bit to get it up and running; but you were soon crushed into his side, his arm around your shoulders, his hand running up and down your bicep but careful not to disturb the wounds; you wrapped your arms around him like he was an oversized teddy bear, hugging him tightly as you pressed your temple against his chest, your eyes on the screen as the film played. 

Byers didn’t like it, as the film went on, he liked the music and the soundtrack, but the actual film itself was something different; it was so gory and so graphic, it made his eyes grow wide as he watched the scenes unfold; sure, he let out a chuckle here and there, but he could not believe what he was watching in the slightest. 

“Oh, good lord,” would slip from his mouth at the most gory scenes, whispered and hoarse as if he could not wrap his head around why anyone would find such entertainment in something so violent. 

“Oh, good grief,” would slip from the back of his throat every now and then, too, muttered and mumbled as his jaw fell slack and he gawked at the film. 

But then he would look at you, and he would see how you were enjoying it so much, and although Byers didn’t like the film in the slightest, he could not bring himself to say anything about it, as he knew how much you loved it and, well… if you loved it, and he loved you, then he was willing to put up with it. 

“Sabrina!” You barked along with the film, “don’t just stare at it! Eat it!” 

The way you grinned, the sheer excitement and entertainment in your eyes, it made Byers relax into you as he focused more on you than he did the film; you were so happy, so utterly happy, and he couldn’t help but to push aside his feelings of dislike and distaste for the film. You loved it. He loved you. He was willing to keep his thoughts on the film to himself just for you. Only for you. 

Although even Byers could not help but to sing along to a few of the songs that played, put on a spinning record by the film’s lead, Patrick Bateman; he wondered, though, if you had noticed that Charlie, the murderer who did all those grotesque things that had lead The Lone Gunmen to your place so fatefully, had the very same last name - he supposed you did, but he supposed that perhaps Bateman was more of a common name than he had once thought. But then he thought of the pictures that Mulder had shown him, and what Mulder had said about Charlie.

Dead behind the eyes of a hazel colour, large pupils. 

Neatly combed and styled dyed-neon and bright blue hair that was almost a mullet but a little bit more stylish than that. 

On his face, the camera had picked up the little freckles of leftover blood. 

How they dripped down his features and he stuck his tongue out, pointing it upwards to collect each drop to taste it, a sickly smile coming to his face afterwards; god, Byers remembered Scully and Mulder saying that he was fairly clean and he had no signs of dirt on himself, he wasn’t living in his own feces and urine, he was washed, he had been wearing a Gucci suit when the two agents had finally caught up and had gotten to him - it was a red suit, the trousers and the blazer a fitting crimson bloodshed red, a white shirt that had been ironed recently but was splattered in little droplets of blood, some of which were smeared from lick marks, a black tie that had also been splattered in bright red blood that became dull when Bateman licked at it like a thirsty dog, even his leather black shoes were covered in blood yet had not a single mark upon them, not so much as a scuff-mark from kicking a curb. 

But even still, Byers could not shake the picture of those dead eyes, nor could he shake what Mulder had told him - that Bateman had licked blood from the suit, consumed it, that Bateman had poked his tongue out to capture little droplets that streamed down his own skin. It made Byers shiver and recoil with disgust as he dared to hold onto you that little bit tighter, needing you to be that little bit more close so that he would not be so haunted by that picture and by the words that Mulder had uttered, the sheer imagery of it all that had been stained into Byers’ mind and caused him such distress. Good lord, he did not wish to think about it, but he could not help it as he watched the events of the film, he could not think of anything else and could not get his mind away from it at all, he could not think; but then you looked at him, furrowing your brows and frowning. 

“John?” Your voice was quiet as you sat up, blocking his view of the screen when you straddled him, trying not to wince at how your arms screamed in protest against you putting your hands on his chest. “You okay?”

Instinct kicked in and he grabbed your hips, letting out a shaky sigh as he swallowed thickly and conjured up a weak smile. “Yeah, no, no, I’m okay… just thinking about something.” 

You tilted your head, seeming not to notice the position, and to be fair, neither did he as he looked up into your eyes, meeting your gaze and almost getting lost in it. “You sure? You just gotta say and I’ll turn it off, I don’t mind.” 

Shaking his head, Byers licked his lips, thankful for the distraction you had not meant to give him. “I’m okay, I promise.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, moving to sit between his legs, sinking down enough on the bed so that your head was against his chest, his arms around you tightly as you snuggled into him. 

Good grief, Byers didn’t want to ruin the moment, leaning forward slightly so that he could press his lips to the top of your head, closing his eyes when you leaned into him that little bit more; sure, he was at a stalemate with you, sure he was haunted by those pictures of Charlie, but even still, he let himself relax, and spend the day however you wanted to. He wouldn’t mind too much… even if you did fall asleep in his arms, even if he hadn’t chased you into dreamland shortly after. 

Byers was unable to sleep that night, up all night tossing and turning, ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’ by Duran Duran playing in his head over and over for no reason other than the fact that he knew that it was a song you were a little bit too keen on, but no matter what he tried, from counting sheep to simply closing his eyes and trying to force himself, Byers could not sleep; he wasn’t really sure what to do, when he passed every door to get to the stairs, every door was closed, and he could hear soft snoring from each room except yours, which made him shrug as he decided not to think too much of any of it. No one was awake, he thought, all was quiet and peaceful, so why couldn’t he sleep? He couldn’t be sure as he went down into the kitchen, rubbing his face with one hand as he fumbled to try and find the lightswitch, but when he turned it on, he heard a yelp, and snapped his gaze up to see you sat on the counter smoking a cigarette. 

“Oh, good grief!” Byers exclaimed, clutching his chest for a second before sighing heavily and daring to smile a little bit. “You scared me there.” 

“You scared me ‘n’ all, so call it even,” you replied quietly, offering an apologetic smile and a flash of those gorgeous eyes that he could so easily get lost in. You looked at him for a moment, taking in the sight of him wearing nothing but his boxers, not even his dressing gown this time, just a pair of plain light grey boxers, and while you were thankful for the view, you could not shake the thought that something was wrong. “Why are you awake? Are you okay?” 

Rubbing the back of his neck, Byers shrugged, licking his lips and clearing his throat. “I’m okay. Why are you awake, though?”

“You know me,” you chuckled. “I’ve never exactly been one to abandon an old friend.” 

“An old friend?” Byers questioned gently, coming to stand beside you and wincing a little at the smell of smoke, so thick and so harsh that it almost made him choke on the very air he was daring to breathe. 

“Insomnia,” you smiled down at him. “You know me, I’ve… never much had success when it comes to sleeping, unless…” 

“Unless?” He softly prompted, looking up at you with a great grave concern, frowning as he looked at how exhausted your eyes were, how you tried to hide it around him that you were still so deeply troubled by the past and that you were always tired. Yes, Byers knew all too well about your old friend insomnia, he knew all too well how you fought with that old friend, which he supposed made it more of an old enemy, but those kinds of thoughts could wait until later. Right now, he just wanted to find a way to sleep and to get you to sleep, too. 

“Well, I’ve never had much trouble sleeping when I’m with you,” you admitted with a shrug. “I mean, c’mon, I took a nap earlier because you were… we were… you… y’know.” 

“I know,” he nodded for a second or two, humming lowly. 

But when the noise faded, he could hear music, muffled and distant, and he tilted his head to the side; he looked over at the speaker, but it was off. It wasn’t heavy metal, which meant it wasn’t coming from Langly’s room. Returning his gaze to you, Byers saw the black wire dangling down your body, hooked up to something in your back pocket, and he realised, then, when he saw the earbud settled in your ear, that the music was coming from you, and you alone. 

But when you realised he was staring at your earbud, you smiled, putting your cigarette out and tossing it into the bin before holding the other one up for him. 

“Take it.” 

“Why?” Byers stared at the earbud for a second, more than confused. 

“Dance with me, John,” you whispered, flashing him that smile that made him so weak. “Please? I promise I’ll be gentle.” 

No one was around or awake to see it, no one could make fun of him if he messed up, so Byers took you up on your offer, quickly putting the earbud in his ear before laying one hand in yours as the other went to your shoulder, you gripped onto his waist, just above the band of his boxers as you smiled, ‘Andante, Andante’ playing softly as he smiled a little bit at you; you gently guided him around the kitchen, swaying to the beat as you lead him around. No one was around to see whether or not you were in-time with the beat, but Byers didn’t care, and he knew that you didn’t either; mostly, he was concerned about stepping on your toes and causing you any harm when it came to your arms, even if he did shiver when your thumb graced the skin of his pelvis just above the waistband of his boxers. He swallowed thickly, blushing furiously as he held back his grin. Byers could not deny that such closeness did something to him, made him weak at the knees and shake a little, made his eyes shimmer like the feeling of a thousand butterflies taking off all at once, he didn’t dare to speak, losing himself in the music and in the feeling of you holding onto him, guiding him and leading him around the kitchen as you did nothing but smile so tenderly at him, only ever whispering out a praise now and then. 

_ Make your fingers soft and light, let your body be the velvet of the night touch my soul, you know how, Andante, Andante, go slowly with me now _

The words made Byers grin as he stayed so close to you, daring to pull you a little closer, daring to let you spin into his arms as you pressed your back to his chest and let him lay one hand around and over your shoulder, falling to your chest as his other arm went around your waist and laid at your hip; you leaned into him, grinning at how he blushed something awful. 

“Maybe we should go to bed,” you whispered, knowing too well that if you continued to dance with him, you would end up ruining your friendship and admitting to your feelings at last, knowing all too well that you could not trust yourself. “I mean, y’know, maybe, uh, maybe- fuck…” you let out a low growl. “Can I sleep with you again, John?” 

“Sure,” Byers agreed with a curt nod, swallowing thickly as you pulled away, already missing your warmth and your touch despite the fact that he very much knew he would feel it again soon enough, a small smile spreading across his lips when you desperately grabbed his hand and tugged him all the way up the stairs, nearly running and tripping over your own feet as you clumsily made your way into the bedroom. 

Byers was the first to get into bed, moving over to the far side and getting comfortable before you snuggled up to him, gripping onto him like he was an oversized teddy bear, snuggling into him and stealing all of his warmth while he stiffened for a moment, not sure what to do, but then you let out a soft grumble and he relaxed, letting his arm wrap around you, tracing your skin softly, careful not to agitate and irritate any wounds, careful with you, gentle, tender, soft; you both stayed there for a moment, and while his arm was cramping up, 

“Hey, John?” You muttered, snuggling into him a little more. 

“Yeah?” Byers hummed softly. 

“Can you sing to me to sleep?” You asked softly, a hum in the back of your throat. “Somethin’ by Whitney Houston, please?” 

Too polite to decline, Byers cleared his throat, sighing heavily as he shook his head. He was too polite to decline, but he knew he couldn’t sing, which was why he kept his voice quiet as he dared to grumble, “where do broken hearts go? Can they find their way home? Back to the open arms, of a love that's waiting there, and if somebody loves you, won't they always love you? I look in your eyes, and I know that you still care for me.”

Byers didn’t dare to move, for when he looked down at you to see how you were doing, you were sound asleep in his arms. He wasn’t one to complain or to even try and move you despite the fact that his arm was killing him, so instead, he shifted to get a little bit comfortable, and found that sleep came awfully easily when you were with him… but before he dared to doze off, Byers gently pressed his lips to the side of your head, and smiled. 

“Sleep well, Artful Dodger.” 

You were still sound asleep when Jimmy bursted into the room, slamming the door open as he grinned madly and howled your name with excited glee, soon gawking and covering his mouth when you dared to shift to lean up slightly, Byers following you and resting his head on your shoulder, grumbling as he asked what was wrong; when you both saw Jimmy stood gawking at you, though, neither of you were quite sure what to say or how to try and explain why you were both half-naked and sharing the same bed - you both looked at Jimmy for a moment, gawking and stuttering to try and explain, and Jimmy looked between you and Byers with a confused expression, stuttering to try and apologise. No one really knew what to do. No one really knew what to say. 

“Uh, maybe I should go,” Jimmy squeaked, turning on his heel and practically running out of the room. 

Byers pressed his forehead to the back of your shoulder, shaking his head. “Oh, good lord, how are we going to explain this?” 

You reached around to gently press the palm of your hand against his temple, daring to dip your fingers into the strands of brown hair and softly running a hand through them before daring to turn over and press your forehead against his. “Well, you got that thing with the guys, right?” 

“Yes, it’s an interview with some locals… why?”

“Leave Jimmy here,” you muttered, moving again so that you could press the tip of your nose against his, smiling as you shook your head a little. “I’ll talk to him.” 

“Okay,” Byers murmured, nodding as he pulled away and slid down to the end the bed, rubbing his face with his hands before he stood up and stretched, able to feel your gaze on him and hoping that you weren’t looking at him as if he was the worst person in the world, hoping that he didn’t do anything wrong. “If, uh, if I leave my bedroom door open tonight, and you can’t sleep… you can, uh, you can sleep with me again - only if you want, though! Only if you want to.” 

“You’re a good man, John,” you murmured, looking him up and down as he moved to the wardrobe and grabbed his suit for the day, but when you saw the tie he had picked out, you groaned loudly.

“What?” Byers chuckled, raising a brow as he looked over at you, biting the inside of his lip and trying to hide the fact that you couldn’t hear the thundering of his heart. 

“That tie is so fucking ugly,” you told him with a small smile. “Go for the black and grey striped one.” 

Byers did as you said, and he had to admit, he looked much better with the black and grey striped tie, but all the same, he could hear Langly and Frohike calling for him, meaning that the goodbye was rushed and short, and by the time the door closed, all you could do was to sigh and fall onto your back on the bed, groaning loudly - it didn’t take long before Jimmy came to check on you, though, gently knocking on the door and clearing his throat. 

“Hey, uh, (y/n)? I made coffee, if you want some.” 

“Thanks, Jimmy,” you hummed, reluctantly getting up and getting dressed before meeting him in the kitchen, thankful that there was a cup of coffee made just the way you liked it sitting on the table; you brought over the ashtray, lighting up a cigarette and sitting down with him, taking a long and deep drag as you sat back in your chair. “How’d you know how I like my coffee?” 

“Byers, uh, he told me,” Jimmy explained, “before the guys left, Byers told me exactly how you like your coffee.” 

“He’s such a sweetheart,” you chuckled softly, shaking your head fondly and sighing. “Shit, he really is just the absolute fucking best, huh?”

“Can, uh, can I ask you something?” Jimmy asked, fiddling with his own hands as he looked from you, to the coffee, to the window, then back at you, nervous beyond all belief, as the last thing he wanted was to offend you or to upset you. 

“Sure,” you shrugged, taking a sip from your coffee and nodding. “Byers definitely taught you how to make this.” 

Jimmy laughed, a little anxious as he bit at the corner of his top lip. “Uh, this morning… you and Byers… are you two, like, a thing? I don’t judge, by the way! It’d just be super cool if you were!” 

“No, Jimmy,” you shook your head. “We just fell asleep together last night, we couldn’t sleep, so we… we literally slept together. That’s all.”

“Oh,” he seemed a bit disappointed, shaking his head before looking down at his hands and sighing. “I’m sorry, I-” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured, speaking gently to him. “Don’t sweat it, Jimmy.” 

“Can, uh, can I ask what your, uhm, your past was like?” He questioned quietly, more curious than anything else, far from judgemental and as if he wanted to know what your private business was; all he cared about was getting to know you. 

“Oh, that old question?” You chuckled, nodding and rubbing the back of your neck. “Sure, yeah… I mean, where do you want me to start?” 

“Wherever you want,” Jimmy shrugged. “Wherever you’re comfortable with starting.” 

“Well, I was born and raised here,” you started, “but things weren’t great, y’know? I mean, things… growing up was shit, Jimmy. It was fucking shit. I was beaten, I was scarred, I was burned, I was cut, I was everything you could’ve thought of and more - I knew pain before I knew anything else. Home was never really home, y’know? I’d be so fucking reluctant to go inside after school. I’d hate it. My dad was a saint, he never so much as raised his voice at me, he was… my dad was okay. But home’s not really home, I mean, when the only feelings you know are pain and fear… it’s not home. That wasn’t fucking home.” 

“I am so sorry,” Jimmy said honestly, reaching out and gently grasping your hand. “You don’t… you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

“She beat me, Jimmy,” you sniffled, shaking your head. “She beat me, she hit me, she kicked me, she scorned me… and I fucking let her. I let her punch my fucking lights out and I never so much as fucking raised my voice... “ your voice was breaking as you turned your hand over to lace your fingers with his, “she fucking beat me into the ground and I never so much as tried to defend myself because… because I knew that if I did, it’d only make that fucking shit worse…” 

“I’m here,” Jimmy said softly, “hey, (y/n), I’m here. Byers will be home soon, and Frohike and Langly will be here, too - those days are behind you. You’re okay.” 

“I turned to pickpocketing because of it,” your voice was so broken, quiet like a scared child, trembling, and Jimmy could feel his heart break on your behalf as you tried to continue through shattered sobs, “she… she wouldn’t let me eat most days, I was fucking starved most of the time, and my dad, my dad, bless him, he couldn’t, y’know, he couldn’t afford to feed me but he tried so - so I started to pick pockets, y’know, just take the coins, just take enough to get yourself something to eat kinda deal…” 

“That sounds awful,” Jimmy whined, flashing you the puppy dog eyes that made you laugh through the tears, you could definitely understand what Langly had meant when they had said that he was little more than a human puppy. “I’m so sorry, really, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s the past,” your voice trembled as you shuddered. “But that’s how it started, y’know, steal enough to survive. Steal enough to keep yourself alive… but then I saw how the rich folks was living, how drenched in luxury they were… so I started to steal from them… it’s not a bad thing, stealing from those who won’t miss it just so you can live another day. It’s really not a bad thing… but y’know, I started to pickpocket and to steal, and that was fine, y’know, I could eat, I could live… but then I started to fight, too, I started to pick fights with people much bigger than me, much stronger than me - I didn’t care. I… I just wanted to feel something and, y’know, I figured if I got into enough fights and if I got hurt enough… maybe I wouldn’t be so mangled and mauled when I went home.” 

“What about Byers?” Jimmy asked softly, tilting his head to the side. “How did you guys meet?” 

You chuckled softly, giving Jimmy’s hand a little squeeze before letting go in order to finish your cigarette and to down some coffee. “We were quite young, y’know, still kids. Still full of hope and optimism… we were young, and he was studying at the skatepark for some test or something, but me and my friends, y’know, we were the kids that would intimidate everyone and scare everyone off.” 

“But not Byers?” Jimmy chuckled at the thought, unable to believe it. 

But you shook your head, clicking your tongue. “No, no… my friends, they started to have a go at him, y’know, calling him names and just being dicks to him, like, they weren’t being nice at all. They were being little fucking shits… and I felt bad, y’know? I felt like shit for it, so I got in the middle - I… I wouldn’t back off until they’d left Byers alone. I didn’t want them to fuck with him, so I stayed there ‘til they left, and I asked if he was alright, y’know, offered him the other half of my sandwich.” 

Jimmy smiled a little, nodding slowly. “So you were kind of his knight in shining armour?” 

“Something like that,” you laughed softly, nodding and swiping your tongue along your bottom lip. You sighed heavily. “Byers was more the knight in shining armour, though, I mean… he found out I’d been kicked out for the night, and he… fuck, bless him and his sweet heart, but he fucking offered me a place to stay. He, y’know, he snuck me into his own house that night, gave me food, offered me a warm place to sleep, that kinda deal… and we started hanging out after that, y’know? We started spending more time together.” 

“Byers is a real good guy, I’m glad he found you,” Jimmy commented sincerely and softly. 

“Yeah, he is, too good for me, though,” you said with a bitter laugh. “But, y’know, we… we started hanging out together, me and Byers, and his dad, y’know, his dad fucking hate me. He’d call me a bad influence, a street-rat, a low-life, scum, y’know, the works. So, I snuck around to see him, I snuck around his dad just so we could hang out, y’know? It was fucked, sure, but that’s just… how it was. We were just making do with what we had. I would sneak in through his window and sit with my head in his lap and he’d…” you let out a softer laugh, “he’d read to me, Jimmy. He’d read to me and he’d teach me about history and maths, he’d help me with my homework and with coursework, stuff like that… he was real sweet to me, real good… Byers is way more book smart, and I’m a lot more street smart, y’know? Gimme a city, and I’ll survive. Gimme a fuckin maths book, and I’ll scream so loud you’ll run a mile.” 

“I get it,” Jimmy agreed with a soft laugh. “You’re kinda like the whole opposites attract thing.” 

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a nod. “Nobody ever really understood why we always got along so well, we just… did. And, y’know, there were nights where Byers would patch me up because of home, because of fighting, all that shit. Y’know, he’d patch me up. And there were nights where I’d patch him up because of what his father did. Split lips. Fuck, I remember the first time Byers’ dad hit him and it took everything in me not to fucking go over there and rip that man to shreds with my own teeth.” 

“Byers’ dad hit him?” Jimmy asked with a whine, tears in his eyes. 

“Yeah, dude,” you sighed. “Bertram is a fucking cunt, mate. Man, I fucking hate him. But, y’know, Byers has you, and Frohike, and Langly, now… although, I gotta admit, it’s fucking weird not calling him John.” 

“His first name is John?!” The young man exclaimed, gawking at you as his eyes widened, utter disbelief on his features. 

“Yeah…” you nodded. “John Fitzgerald Byers - he’s named after - wait, did you not know that?” 

“No!” Jimmy whined. 

“Aw, Jimmy,” you couldn’t help but to fondly and softly laugh at him. “Would it make you feel better if I told you that Langly’s real name is Ringo?” 

“No!” He howled again, looking every bit the kicked puppy, he looked so hurt and so saddened to hear that he had apparently been lied to by everyone. 

“Aw, sugar,” you cooed, moving your chair around to sit beside him, laying your arm across his shoulders as you rubbed his bicep sweetly. “Oh you poor, sweet, thing… it’s okay, tell the Artful Dodger all about it.” 

“Artful Dodger?!” Jimmy exclaimed, looking at you with betrayal in his eyes. 

You shook your head, shushing him for a second as you smiled. “That’s a nickname, Jimmy, I can assure you that my name is (y/n), okay?” 

“Okay,” he grumbled, leaning into you. “So, did you and Byers ever become more than friends?”

“No,” you admitted with a shake of your head and a sigh. “No, me and Byers are strictly just platonic… unfortunately.”

“You’d make a good couple,” he told you. “Because you’re smart, and he’s smart, so together you’d be, like, super smart.” 

“Meh,” you shrugged, running a hand through his hair and smiling down at him. “I’d say that Byers is much smarter than I could ever be, if I was honest - you know he can say the word bear in nearly every language, right? Not to mention the fucking fact he can tell you exactly what kind of bear it is.” 

“You’re smart, too, though,” Jimmy insisted with a shake of his head. “Look at how you’ve helped us with our newspaper, and uh, don’t tell the guys I said this, but robbing money from all those rich people at that bank? You’d have to be pretty smart to do that and not get caught.” 

You scoffed, shaking your head and rolling your eyes at him; sure, it did take a lot of gall and nerve in order to do such a thing, it took more than just smarts, though, it took skill and time and planning. You didn’t have to be smart to make a foolproof plan, not when you had a crew. The same as you didn’t have to be smart in order to escape the law and to stay hidden underground, right beneath their noses - that was probably the easiest part, not getting caught. The police were idiots, incapable of doing their job without causing one or two deaths. They were pigs, through and through, and avoiding them and not getting caught was almost certainly the easiest part of that heist. You could have walked right up to them and they would never have known it was you who had stolen all of that money; but it wasn’t really stolen, not when it was made from the suffering of normal people. You were just redistributing the funds, and most of it had gone back into your community anyway. Only a small sum of it remained with you, just enough to keep you afloat. But as you looked at Jimmy, and he looked at you, insistent and not at all seeming to budge from his point, from his thought that you were smart, you knew that you would do better to give up on it; you knew that you would be better off if you shut up about it and didn’t argue - so you leaned back in your chair, lit up another cigarette, and sighed heavily. 

“If you say so, Jim old son, if you say so.” 

Jimmy didn’t correct you, he had too many nicknames to bother, and besides, he liked you enough to let you call him whatever you wanted to, so he smiled, and tilted his head; you were so smart, he knew that, but you were clearly also skilled at what you did, you clearly had the know-how and the practical skills to pull it off, and he knew that you knew that town like the back of your hand. He remembered watching a film with the Gunmen at one point, about an animated cat and a dog that sounded a lot like the guy that sang ‘Piano Man’, and he smiled, thinking about how you reminded him of that dog; the streetwise thief with a secret heart of gold, not a worry in the world, not a care either. He smiled at the thought of it, trying to think of what the dog was called, he remembered it wearing a red bandanna, but then it clicked, making him grin as he perked up and snapped his fingers. “Dodger!” 

“What?” Your voice was even as you raised a brow at him, looking at him with nothing but confusion, wondering what he was talking about, wondering what had made him suddenly exclaim such a thing with seemingly no reason behind it. Did he sneeze? Was that what it was? 

“Dodger, in the film!” Jimmy told you excitedly. “The dog!” 

“Jimmy, mate, did you hit your head or something?” You asked, looking him up and down with nothing but grave concern. 

“No,” he shook his head, sighing. “Me and the guys, we watched this thing not too long ago, and there was a cat and a dog, and the dog sounded like the guy that sings Piano Man, and-” 

“Oliver and Company?” You guessed with a hum. “Is that what you watched?” 

“Yes!” He beamed, practically buzzing with excitement. “Yeah! You’re the dog! Dodger!” 

You couldn’t help but to throw your head back as you barked out a laugh, thinking him so daft but so adorable; you liked having Jimmy around, he was a good kid, and he wouldn’t hurt a fly, he made you laugh. You almost wanted to convince Byers to let Jimmy move in with you so that you could adopt him. “Well, thanks? I think? And for the record, it’s Billy Joel that sings Piano Man and did the voice of the dog.” 

“Y’know, this is why you and Byers would make such a good couple,” Jimmy commented. “You know a lot about a lot of things, and he does, too - you’d be unstoppable together!” 

“Jimmy-” you sighed, cutting yourself off as you shook your head. “Even if we could, it wouldn’t work.” 

“Well, why not?” He asked with a frown and a whine from the back of his throat, sinking down in his seat a little bit as if hearing such a thing made him so miserable and melancholic that it was hard to look him in the eyes, as if it made his heart sink so low that it was twenty thousand leagues beneath the sea, shattered by the waves and the currents, broken by the battering pressure that not even the toughest of animals could face. Poor Jimmy looked like a child that had just been told that Santa wasn’t real. He looked so awfully and terribly broken-hearted. He looked every bit the kicked puppy dog. 

You leaned forward to ash your cigarette, biting at your lower lip as you let out a grumble, running your free hand through your hair before resting your wrists on the smooth wood of the table, thinking of how to tell him, wondering how to explain it without making it sound so pathetic. “I’m not so sure you would understand, mate… maybe another time.” 

“Please,” he begged softly. “Tell me.” 

You wanted to roll your eyes, to brush him off and to leave him sat there wondering, but you couldn’t, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be so cold towards him, not when he had shown you nothing but companionship and friendship, not when he had been so much like an old friend to you, you couldn’t be so cruel to him. “Fuck, man… well, if we’re gonna start anywhere, there’s the fact that I could never tell Byers how I actually felt for him. I mean, sure, I told him I loved him back then when, y’know, when we bumped into each other the other day and everything, but fuck me, back then? Back in the days where I saw him all the time? I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t, and I didn’t and now… fuck, now it’s just scary to even think of telling him about it, y’know? Like, it’s fucking scary to think of telling him how I feel. Fuck… the thought of actually telling Byers that I-”

“That you love him?” Jimmy guessed with a soft voice, his gaze softening and sweetening slightly as he frowned and nodded slowly. 

“Yeah, that,” you grumbled. “The thought of telling him how I really feel is so fucking scary… it’s the only thing I’ve ever been shit scared of in my life, if I’m honest with you, mate, it’s the only thing I’m fucking scared of, and I’ve been in some pretty fucking scary situations, but shit… none of ‘em compare to telling Byers how I feel. Not in the goddamn slightest.” 

“Why are you so scared?” He tenderly questioned, not wanting to push his boundaries and upset you. “I mean, you’re a good looking guy, you’re funny, you’ve been nothing but kind to us all since we got here - why are you so scared, (y/n)?”

You scoffed. “You really don’t get it, do you?” 

“Explain it to me.” Jimmy shrugged. "Please?"

“Byers is a good guy, he’s a nice man and he’s literally too good for this world - I mean, I’ve never heard him say fuck, have you?” You raised your brow, waiting for an answer. 

“No.” He shook his head. 

“Exactly, he’s literally too good for this fucking world, he’s a fucking angel," you started, "he deserves so much better than me, he deserves someone much, much, much fucking better than I could even hope to be. Byers… he’s a goddamn prince, and fuck me, in what fairly does the fucking prince marry the pickpocketing thief?” You let out a huff of air, shaking your head before you continued to pace. “And I know that Byers would never even fucking think of looking at me the same goddamn way - I know that, no matter what I did or said, Byers would never… he would never love me. Not in a million years. Not even in a fucking billion years, Jimmy. He’d never love me…” 

“What about the kiss, back at Billy’s place?” Jimmy asked softly, raising his brows at you. 

Once more, you scoffed, running a hand through your hair and swiping one hand down your face as you did your best not to choke on your own air from the grumble you held down in the back of your throat. “Byers kissed me out of pity. Byers kissed me because he felt fucking sorry for me - he doesn’t… he could never feel for me the way that I feel for him.” 

Jimmy offered you a soft smile as he shook his head and laid his hand on your shoulder, pinning you to your chair with his gentle gaze. “I know differently.” 

“I find that very fucking hard to believe,” you muttered in melancholy. 

“(Y/N), Byers never shuts up about you,” Jimmy admitted. “Every single time you've left us alone in the kitchen, he always talks about you and how great you are, he doesn't talk about you like... like a friend, y'know? It's different, the way he speaks is different. But Byers hasn’t shut up about you and how amazing you are and how smart you are. And I know, for a fact, that he loves you - and seriously, how could you… do you not see the way that Byers looks at you?”

You raised a brow, slowly shaking your head this time as you dared to take another long drag from your cigarette, shaking your head at Jimmy. “He… looks at me like I’m his friend, mate, he doesn’t… look at me any other way.” 

It seemed Jimmy would not let up as he let out a soft laugh and rolled his eyes at you. “You don’t see it? He gazes at you, (y/n).” 

“Maybe he does, but it’s just platonic,” you insisted. "I'm just his friend."

“You're not, though," he said softly. "You're more than that to him, I can see it. I promise."

“Shut up.” You grumbled, glaring at him for a moment “You're as bad as Langly, Jimmy, I mean, seriously, what’s the point in trying to get me and Byers together?” 

“I wanna see Byers happy,” Jimmy whined gently as he began, “he’s my friend, but… he’s also my brother. He is… and I wanna see you happy, too.” 

“You wanna see me happy?” You asked with a smirk. “Get me a Slayer CD, a can of Red Bull and a twenty pack of Sterlings, and I’ll be the happiest motherfucker around.”

“I meant-”

“I know what you meant,” you said softly, shaking your head. “But it ain’t gonna happen. I’m sorry, mate, but it ain’t gonna happen because it fucking can’t… listen, it ain’t like I don’t wanna be with him, alright? It ain’t like that. More than anything, I wanna be with him. More than fucking anything and everything. But I know it wouldn’t work, I know that he’d never look at me that way and I know I’d never be good enough and I’d never be abe to treat him like the fucking goddamn King that he is. Alright?”

“But Byers loves you,” Jimmy insisted, “he doesn’t care if you’re deserving, he loves you. And he doesn’t care about money, (y/n)... Frohike and Langly told me that his own dad stopped talking to him after he quit a government job to team up with them in order to create the newspaper. He doesn’t care about money, or deserving, all he cares about is if you love him, which I know-”

“I know you know that I love him,” you sighed heavily, looking up at the ceiling as if searching for an answer amongst the flat white canvas that seemed too big to fit despite the fact that it had been there before you could even remember, you didn't think you painted the ceiling at least, but that seemed to be your answer, apparently, nothing but white, nothing but flat white plaster. Not so much as a scratch. “Even if I was stupid enough, even if I was brave enough, to say the fucking words - what am I supposed to do? Just fucking… walk up to him and say hey, John, I know we haven’t seen each other since goddamn ancient history times, but I’m still very much in love with you? Oh, and by the way, I never stopped loving you, so much so that I ended up ending a long-ass friendship with a guy that turned out to be a serial killer because I couldn’t move on from you! Love you! Fuck no! He’d laugh at me for that shit… now I know I ain’t no Shakespeare, Jimmy, but c’mon.” 

“I can help,” he offered with a shrug, although he himself was not exactly the most experienced in admissions of love, but Jimmy figured that he had been with enough people for one night stands to know more or less what to do; that's all love was, right? Just a long one night stand. “I can help, yeah!” 

“Oh, Jimmy…” you grumbled, shaking your head and looking down at the ashtray, looking at the mixing of light and dark grey tones, the flicker of white and yellow and brown from cigarettes that had been stubbed out. “I appreciate the offer, honestly, I do, but… also no. If I have to confess, which I’m not going to, I’m gonna do it on my own. I’ll fuck up the words and he’ll laugh at me, sure, without a fucking doubt that’s what’s gonna happen if I ever do tell Byers I love him, but… forget it, alright? Byers ain’t never gonna take any love confession that comes out of my mouth as anything but a fucking joke, and I can’t blame him. Look at me - do I look like the kinda guy who marries the prince? Or do I look like the guy that everybody thought was the good guy, but was really working with or for the villain the entire time? Face it, man… guys like me, we don’t marry the prince and live happily ever after. We don’t get fairy tale endings. We never have, and we never will.” 

“But… but sometimes, the bad guy  _ isn’t _ the bad guy,” Jimmy told you. “Sometimes, yeah, sometimes he does end up marrying the prince and living happily ever after - you just… you just have to tell Byers how you feel.”

“I’m not doing that,” you growled, finishing off your cigarette and stubbing it out. “You can fuck right off with that load of bullshit right now.”

“So you’re never gonna confess?” Jimmy asked with a heartbroken look, as if his entire world had just shattered before him without a care in the universe, as if he had watched the comet that killed the dinosaurs off. 

“Probably not,” you shrugged. “Fuck, Jim, just drop it, alright?” 

You had never wanted to upset Jimmy, that was among the last of things that you wanted to do, although you could not deny that you had wanted him to drop the entire thing about confessing to Byers in the same way that you had wanted Langly to do so, as although you knew that both of them had meant well, it was getting to a point where being hounded by them and knowing that they were right and that you should, really, confess or at least attempt to was getting on your last nerves; you desperately needed a break, so desperately in fact that you were quite happy when Byers came into your room that night, sitting on your bed as you wandered around your room with a battered old copy of Romeo and Juliet, pacing about as you read through the play, the book in your hands had clearly seen some years without a doubt, but even still, Byers could not say no when you asked him to be your Juliet, letting you sit beside him as you cleared your throat and prepared to be the infamous Romeo. 

“My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?” He was a little stiff, his words stumbling a little, quite unsure of what exactly the point in it was, but it seemed to make you smile, so he supposed that he didn’t quite mind it all too much. 

“Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike,” you replied softly, clearly having found some sort of sympathy for the protagonist of the tragedy, clearly finding some sort of hopeless relation to him as you sighed and smiled. 

“How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, and the place death, considering who thou art, if any of my kinsmen find thee here,” he told you with a certain unsteadiness in his voice, a certain unsureness that made you grin and laugh quietly, which in turn made him smile and the tips of his ears and nose turn a hazy pink. 

“With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; for stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do that dares love attempt; therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me,” you struggled to get through the lines without laughing, biting at the inside of your lip so much that you could taste metallic and coppery blood on your tongue that you could not help but to grumble at; but nevertheless, you persevered, reading through the famous balcony scene with Byers, giving him time to stumble and stutter through the words with nothing but a gentle gaze, a soft smile, a slight tilt of your head. Lovesick. A lovestricken puppy. And all it took was some Shakespeare. But then Byers mentioned needing to get back to his room, needing to go to sleep, right at the perfect moment. “O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”

Taking a look at the pages, Byers cleared his throat and shrugged. “What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?”

You grinned at that, licking your lips and daring to smile. “The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.”

“I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: and yet I would it were to give again.” He said, more soft spoken now, more soft spoken but still so uneasy, still so unsure. 

“Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?” You dared to ask, looking at him with expectation of an answer, but you could tell that that question had a certain affect on him, the last word making him clench his jaw and his breath hitching in his chest before he could drop his gaze to the play in your hands. 

“But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: my bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

As he bid you goodnight, you could not help but to stop him at the door by gently gripping his wrist and pleading, your eyes so full of plight, that he could not stop himself from turning to you and daring to smile; you wanted him around, that much was evident, and although he did not quite want to stay, he did. After all, the only reason he didn’t want to stay was because he did not want to end up snuggled into you again, he did not want to be caught in bed with you like he had been that very morning, and although it was fair to neither you or his heart, he knew that he was better off walking away for the night. He knew he was better off sleeping in his temporarily own bed for the night. 

“John…” you whispered, the whisper of a smile upon your lips but not quite entirely there yet, not quite a smile but almost certainly, without a doubt forevermore, not a frown. “Thank you for doing that with me.” 

“Don’t, uh, don’t worry about it,” he said softly, pressing his forehead against yours, his free hand at the nape of your neck as he dared to smile. “I’m sorry I’m not amazing at Shakespeare.” 

“You were perfect,” you told him with a hushed voice. “As always, John, you were so fucking perfect.” 

The words made him blush as he pulled away, daring to press his lips to your forehead, forever burning a sweet kiss to your skin as he hummed lowly, from the back of his throat. “Goodnight, Artful Dodger.” 

“It’s almost morning,” you told him with a real smile at last. “I mean, it’s practically good morning, not goodnight.” 

“I wish you’d sleep here again,” you admitted. 

“I want to,” Byers confessed. “But… I don’t want to give, y’know, I, uh, I don’t want the guys to-”

“I know,” you nodded, your smile dying a little as you sighed. “Goodnight, goodnight, parting is such sweet sorrow that I'll say goodnight until it's tomorrow." 

In the morning, you met Byers in the kitchen, and after a quick cup of coffee and a quick cigarette, you decided to make breakfast together; nothing too complicated, just eggs and toast and fake-bacon and beans and fake-sausages; Frohike was grateful for that especially, grateful that it was Kosher, and Langly was grateful that you somehow knew exactly how to cook their eggs, Jimmy was happy for free food, and Byers enjoyed cleaning with you. The speaker was on, and he couldn’t help but to smile when he looked over at you at the hob, in control of the frying pan while you swayed from side to side in time with the music, mouthing the lyrics, lip-syncing as if everything you knew and loved depended on it. Sure, it wasn’t Byers type of music, not by a long shot, but he was glad that you were enjoying it, although he was a little flustered whenever you kissed his cheek when you passed him by to grab something, making him go stiff as he froze in place for several moments. He didn’t mind it too much, though, actually unable to keep the grin from his face. Even though he wasn’t even dressed yet. Even though he was cooking whilst wearing just his dressing gown and his boxers, quite cold, really, if he had to be honest. But none of that mattered when they all sat around the kitchen table waiting for breakfast to finish cooking, when suddenly, out of the blue, a very certain song came on that made them all groan at first. 

“We’re no strangers to love!” You sang loudly, making all four of the Gunmen laugh, “you know the rules, and so do I! A full commitment’s what I’m thinkin’ of, you wouldn’t get this from any other guy! I just wanna tell you how I’m feelin’, gotta make you understand!” You grabbed Byers’ hand, pulling him up out of his seat as you dared to mockingly square up to him. “Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you - never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna tell a lie and hurt you!” 

Despite the fact that Byers did very much like the song despite its use as a meme, he couldn’t help but to groan softly and shake his head fondly, close to rolling his eyes as he dared to smile at you; he didn’t have words to say, he couldn’t think of any until you were all sat down and eating breakfast minutes later, which was when he decided to clear his throat and propose something to you that was perhaps not entirely out of the blue. 

“Uh, (y/n), didn’t you, didn’t you say that you wanted to check out that shopping mall at some point? I was, uh, I beg your pardon, but I was thinking we could go together today.” 

“I was going to go to the synagogue,” Frohike commented. “But it’s within walking distance, right?” 

Unable to currency answer Byers’ question, you nodded, choking on a burp a little bit. “Uh, yeah, it’s about an hour and a half walk from here. Shouldn’t be much of a problem, is just a bit cold.” 

“I need to go to town, too,” Langly admitted, looking at Frohike. “I wanted to talk to Lucy about something she said.” 

“I can go with you!” Jimmy grinned, looking at his two friends, companions, colleagues, siblings, with wide eyes. 

“Alright, then,” Frohike nodded, looking back at Byers. “You can have the van for the day, Byers.” 

“I got fuel in the shed if you need to fill it up,” you told him. “Because fuck me, I’m not sucking on a long pipe.” 

Frohike looked at you, a look to which you glared back at, shaking your head, but then he smiled and very quietly teased you with, “unless if it belongs to Byers.” 

“You fucking asshole,” you chuckled, shaking your head fondly. 

“Oh, good lord, Frohike!” Byers exclaimed, glaring at his friend and gawking, unable to believe that he had heard such a thing but unable to keep the deep blush from his features as you and Langly and Frohike giggled and snickered together, having to hang your heads as laughter took over you both. “You can’t say that!”

“He just did,” you cried between fits of laughter, wiping a tear from your eye as you let out a long ‘ooh’ and tried to calm yourself down. “I gotta give you props for timing, though, that was fucking quick.” 

“Just like Byers in the bedroom,” he teased, making you double over and slam your fork onto the table, having to grip the edge of it in order to stop laughing. 

“Would you shut the fuck up?” You begged, shaking your head, unable to take the pain of laughing so much, your stomach feeling like it was going to break into two and your ribs were going to split and snap in half, your chest aching. 

“Frohike, please,” Byers begged, eyes widening and his jaw falling slack when you began to choke, he immediately went to your side, patting your back gently. 

“Don’t be a narc, Byers,” Langly and Frohike grumbled through laughs. 

“John, I’m alright,” you chuckled, clearing your throat and trying not to burst out with laughter once more. “I’m alright, I just… fucking Frohike got me off guard.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Byers returned to his seat, letting you and the other Gunmen giggle and laugh; sure, he was glad that you were all comfortable enough with one another to have that sort of banter, but even still, he wasn’t exactly pleased with how rude it was - they were far from the jokes he was brought up to believe were appropriate for the breakfast table. But he still laughed. He still laughed even though the jokes should have been saved for late nights and not first thing in the morning.

But the giggles and laughter over breakfast were short lived, and as Frohike and Langly and Jimmy all went off to get dressed, you and Byers stole away to the living room; you had been watching the news at first, but that soon changed when you admitted to being cold, which had prompted Byers to shrug off his dressing gown, gently commanding you to move forward slightly so that he could drape it over your shoulders with a tender series of sweet movements, rubbing your arms gently but making sure not to irritate the wounds on them, knowing that they were will stealing, knowing that they still hurt deeply and that they would crack and pop open if you moved a certain way; but he didn’t mind making himself cold and causing himself that slight agony if it meant that you were warm. But he still did his best not to blush and to take too much notice when you buried your face into the fabric, taking in his sweet scent and grumbling lowly with something that sounded like gratitude, although he had a feeling that it was probably more than that, even if he would not question you about it any further, even if he could not bring himself to disturb you; even that moment was short lived, through, as you crashed into his side and pressed your face against his chest, draping your legs over his as you clung onto him like a koala, letting him gently wrap an arm around you as he allowed you to fall asleep on him, curled up against his side. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but at some point, Byers himself had fallen asleep, and the position had changed; he was on his back, stretched out along the sofa as you slept on top of him - your head was on his chest, nuzzled into him as he had both arms around you tightly, one resting on the middle of your back, the other at the back of your head, his head angled down so that his lips were against you, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, your legs tangled with his although one of yours was draped over the edge of the sofa. He would have quite happily slept there for years, forever at peace with you in his arms, but a rude awakening was in order, and Byers couldn’t help the grumble of disappointment that left his throat when he opened one eye to see Langly, Frohike and Jimmy stood over you both, Langly was holding their phone and the sound that came from it had told Byers that they had sent it to the group chat that the Gunmen were in with Yves, Scully, Mulder, Doggett, Reyes, and Assistant Director Skinner - Scully and Mulder and Doggett and Reyes’ boss, of all people. 

“They’re really cute together like that,” Jimmy whispered, not realising that Byers was trying to relax and get back to sleep despite the presence of the other Gunmen and the anxiety in his chest when he thought about the FBI finding out about you, where you were, what you had done. Fuck, that wasn’t good. 

“They’re so peaceful,” Frohike muttered with a sigh. “Maybe we should leave them, they know we’re going out anyway.” 

“Yeah, but what if they wake up and think something happened?” Langly asked with a hum. “You know what Byers is like.” 

“Yeah, but you know what Byers said about (y/n) not sleeping most of the time,” Jimmy quietly commented. “Maybe it’s best if we just leave them, guys, we can always leave a note or something just to say.” 

But their quiet conversation had stirred both you and Byers this time, and when you realised that they were looking at you both, you jumped apart, sitting on opposite ends of the sofa after awkwardly untangling yourselves; you cleared your throat, daring to smile at the three Gunmen stood before you. “Hey guys… sorry, I think we drifted off for a bit.” 

The trio looked at you for a moment, but their attention was soon taken when Byers dared to open his mouth. “I’ll, uh, I’ll go and get dressed - are you guys okay?” 

“Great,” they answered with a nod and a smile each, although they did share a look that told both you and Byers that they had seen more than what you had thought, and that they had been stood there for much longer than you had wanted to think they did. 

“Yeah, uh, I should go and get dressed, too,” you cleared your throat, standing up and looking around awkwardly. “Frohike, do you need me to write down directions to the synagogue? It can get a bit confusing.” 

Shaking his head, Frohike offered you a small smile as he shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll be able to find it, thanks.” 

As you bid the three friends, your love’s companions and colleagues and siblings, a sweet goodbye, you rushed up the stairs and into your room, leaning against the wall and covering your face with your hands; had they really seen you asleep with Byers? Again? Fuck, first it was Jimmy, and now it was Langly and Frohike that had seen it, too, and while you knew that Jimmy and Langly knew about your feelings for Byers, you could not cope with the thought that they were rooting for you and cheering you on to tell Byers about how you felt. Fuck, this was bad. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck, this was bad. 

You wanted to scream when you heard the door close, but what you did not know was that, in his own room, Byers was pressed up against the wall, his face in his hands as he shook his head and thought about how stupid he was, about how he hoped that that picture that was sent to the group chat would not blow your cover and cause something bad to happen; but then he got a call from Mulder, and he dared to answer it. 

“Hey, Byers, I saw that picture,” Mulder started, his voice laced with static, he was probably calling from the office and didn’t have a great signal, “listen, I don’t know who that guy is, but-”

“Mulder, give me the phone,” Scully’s voice chimed weakly, quietly, making Byers sigh a little with relief. “Hey, Byers.” 

“Scully,” Byers answered, hoping that the shaking of his voice would not be heard or would be excused by poor signal on their end. “Is, is everything okay?” 

“Mulder wanted to make fun of the picture Langly sent,” she told him, laughing at Mulder’s protesting in the background. “You’ll let us meet this boyfriend of yours, though, right?”

“He’s not- good grief, he’s not my boyfriend,” Byers told her, a little too harshly as it made him wince, a little heartbroken to have to say that you weren’t when all he wanted was for you to be such a thing to him. “He’s not my boyfriend, Scully.” 

“Doggett, you owe me!” Mulder suddenly shouted, the crashing of a chair soon following, followed by a loud protest from Doggett and Reyes - did they take bets? 

“Mulder managed to talk Doggett and Reyes and Skinner into taking a bet with him,” Scully explained, “and it looks like Mulder won.” 

“Great,” Byers grumbled, shaking his head. Any other day and he would have found it a little bit funny. “Uh, listen, Scully, I uhm-” looking up, Byers saw you leaning against the door frame, and it took everything in him not to lick his lips and look you up and down, his breath hitching in his throat and causing his chest to feel as if something was fluttering about in his ribcage and poking his heart. 

“Byers? Everything okay?” Scully asked when too many seconds had passed by in silence. “Byers?” 

“Uh, yeah,” he cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Yeah, no, I’m, I’m okay, but… I gotta go, I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay, stay safe while you’re out there,” she told him softly. “And make sure to keep the guys out of too much trouble, too.” 

“Friend of yours?” You asked curiously, tilting your head to the side and humming lowly, your gaze so soft as you looked at him. 

“Uh, yeah,” Byers nodded. “I’m so sorry, (y/n), Langly- they, they put a picture of us into the, uh, the group chat and-”

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” you shrugged, shaking your head. “In fact, forget all about it, alright? Today’s just about you and me, just you and me and getting rid of your fucking ugly ties.” 

Byers frowned, although he did want to laugh at the latter part of your words, he never thought that his ties were that ugly. “You think they’re ugly?”

“Some of them,” you admitted, swallowing thickly. “Don’t get me wrong, John, you look amazing in everything - but fuck me, those ties are so fucking ugly. We’ll get you some new ones in town.” 

“You don’t-”

“I want to,” you told him, cutting him off with a sweet kiss to the cheek that had him freezing in place and stiffening, eyes wide and a blush on his features that made you chuckle softly at him. “I got one of my dad’s old bikes in the shed, if, uh, if you wanna take a ride for once.” 

“You know how I feel about bikes,” he told you softly, shaking his head. 

“Oh, I know,” you grinned, raising your brows at him. “I still remember all the times you told me how dangerous they were and to never ride one when it was icy because I’d kill myself doing it.”

“They are dangerous,” he insisted with a slight pout. “You could really hurt yourself one day, you know.” 

“I’ve heard you say it all before, John,” you said softly, patting his shoulder before sighing and daring to turn away slightly. “Tell you what, I’ll meet you outside, alright? By your van.” 

“Okay,” he tried not to, but he could not stop himself from leaning into your gentle touch, closing his eyes for a moment before letting you pull away and leave him, abandoning him in the silence of the room while he got dressed, unable to think of anything except you. How good you looked that day. Sure, it was a simple look; red trainers, light blue skinny jeans that were stained with blood and mud and god-knew what else, a burgundy t-shirt, and a dark blue jumper. It was a simple look, but to Byers, it was fantastic, because you wore it. And fuck, he wouldn’t hesitate to admit that you looked good in everything and anything. He did wonder, though, if you had stolen his dressing gown, keeping it in your room - not that he minded, really, he was more curious than anything else. 

But as he made his way outside, he winced a little, the cold air hitting his face harshly and making him wince; but he unlocked the van, opening the passenger door for you, letting you climb into the van before he so much as dared to think about it; the seats were cold, and the steering wheel felt icy to the touch, but the windows were not fogged up, and nor were they coated in a thin sheen of ice, they were perfectly clear as they had been the day before and every day since, they were perfectly fine, except on the inside, it was so cold that Byers could have sworn he could see your breath stain the air like coffee on paper, he could have sworn that he could see how your breath was grey and foggy, but he did his best not to think about it as he stuck the key in the ignition and turned it, daring to start the van and pull out of your home, getting onto the road as you leaned forward and grabbed the case of CDs, flicking through it for a moment. 

“Anything but Slayer,” Byers told you softly, sparing a smile and a gaze your way. “Please?”

“Lemme look,” you replied, thumbing through the case before humming softly and pulling out one CD that you knew would make him smile: Fore, by Huey Lewis and The News. Stuck With You started to play, making Byers blush a little as he dulled down the thoughts of how much the song made him always think of you, but then you just had to go and ruin that by singing along. “We've had some fun, and yes we've had our ups and downs, been down that rocky road, but here we are, still around, we thought about someone else, but neither one took the bait, we thought about breaking up, but now we know it's much too late - we are bound by all the rest like the same phone number, all the same friends, and the same address,” you flashed him that horribly charming smile, “c’mon, Byers, let loose, sing along a little.” 

Blushing, Byers’ grip on the steering wheel grew slightly tighter as he swallowed thickly, knowing all too well that he was far from the best singer, but even still, your smile and the way you looked at him made him sigh heavily as he dared to quietly sing, as best as he could. “Yes, it's true, yes it's true, I am happy to be stuck with you, yes, it's true, yes it's true, I'm so happy to be stuck with you, ‘cause I can see, I can see, that you're happy to be stuck with me…” 

The very last song on the album finished playing just as Byers managed to find a space to park at the shopping centre, thankfully it was a space that was neither too far nor too close, and as you tugged on Byers’ hand, he couldn’t help but to smile; he had no idea what you wanted in what shop, and he wasn’t particularly keen on being in such a crowded place, but all the same, he did not quite mind it when you were right there with him. You picked up some new types of coffee, stocked up on tobacco and filters and papers, which he did attempt to talk you out of but you would hear nothing of it, but then you had to go and pull him into Vivienne Westwood, dragging him to the men’s aisle, which he wasn’t all that keen on, he didn’t think he needed any suits, and he certainly didn’t need any at such a high price. 

“I know it’s kinda pricey,” you started, “but Vivienne Westwood is probably the best suit designer you can find, trust me on this.” 

Didn’t Charlie wear Gucci? Byers thought, but then he shrugged off the thoughts and decided to ignore them, quite happy to let you drag him around the shop although he couldn’t help but to grumble and shake his head when you paused at the tie rack and looked at each other; you picked up a dark green one that was close to the colour that ambulance drivers wore for their uniforms, draping it over your arm as you picked up a navy blue one that was dark but a calming colour, also draping it over your arm and on top of the green one, then you stacked up a white one, and a black one, and a red one, and a few grey ones, and a golden one that would have looked tacky if not for the fact that it was actually a rich golden colour and not bright and shiny. 

“You don’t have to-” 

“John, I want to,” you told him gently, shaking your head and smiling at him. “Trust me, I want to. I don’t mind splashing out a little bit of cash for you… I mean, uh…” you scratched the back of your neck, biting at your lip. “Uh, as long as it gets you to stop wearing those ugly ties, I mean.”

“Fine,” Byers grumbled, although he couldn’t deny that he did feel extremely guilty at letting you commit such an act of kindness for him when he knew that he had no idea of how to pay you back, and while he knew that you would not accept any form of payment or thanks, he still wanted to try and find some way of paying you back for it. He really did, but as you paid for them and then presented them to him in a bag, all he could do was smile, not really sure how to react; unable to sure of what he was really supposed to say, but even still, he could not help but to lean in and kiss your forehead sweetly. “You’re too good for me, (y/n).” 

“Oh, I’m really not,” you chuckled, shaking your head and taking his hand once more, tugging him out into the shopping centre. “Where to next?” 

In all honesty, Byers didn’t mind in the slightest, in fact, he didn’t really care where the next destination was, so long as he was with you, beside you, so long as he could stand at your side and spend some more time with you, he honestly did not care where you went or dragged him to; when you decided to go to a coffee shop, though, he did have to admit that he was a little surprised, sitting down with you at one of the tables so obviously, as if you weren’t in hiding and as if you didn’t care if anyone saw you. But even still, as you began to talk, Byers couldn’t help but to smile sadly. 

“I’ve seen a lot of things,” he started, “whilst, you know, whilst working with the guys and helping Mulder and Scully… and some of it reminded me of you.” 

“Yeah?” You hummed, taking a sip from your coffee and trying not to think how, when Byers made it, it tasted so much better. 

“Yeah, and I regret, every day, that I wasn’t in contact with you,” Byers admitted softly. “It… I know it’s pathetic, good lord do I know that, but every day I regretted not being in contact with you and not being able to show them to you. I am so, so sorry.” 

“Tell me about it,” you said gently, shaking your head as you dared to smile tenderly at him. “What were some of these amazing things that you saw?” 

“There was an alligator in a lake in Georgia,” he said, “it was a case that Mulder was working on with Scully, and they came back and showed me and the guys - it wasn’t anything, you know, it wasn’t, wasn’t a huge case or anything, but it made me think of how you always used to say that you would have loved to work with them, with alligators, I mean.” Scratching his temple, Byers let out a soft chuckle. “I know it’s stupid, but, I asked Mulder to give me one of the teeth so I could give it to you if I ever saw you again… it’s in my wardrobe… right… right next to a picture of us that you took.” 

“The one of us at your place?” You asked softly. 

Nodding, Byers brought his cup to his lips, taking a swig as he let out an, “mm-hmm.”

“I keep it in my wallet,” you admitted. “It… y’know, John, sometimes, I’ll see a teddy bear, and I’ll… I’ll think about sending it to you but then I’ll remember I don’t know where the fuck you’re living, and I’ll… I’ll regret not being around and not keeping in contact. Yeah, it’s stupid, but I always think of you when I see a bear, whether it’s a teddy or a fucking picture, it always makes me think of you. How you used to make me watch that fucking show… fuck, what was it called? Gentle Ben or something?”

“Gentle Ben,” Byers nodded, smiling. 

“Yeah, well, thanks to you, I can’t look at anything to do with bears without thinking of you,” you attempted to sound half-serious, to sound light-hearted despite the fact that you did secretly feel a certain pang of pain whenever you went into a shop and saw a black bear teddy, making you wish that you were always with him so that you could buy it for him. Whenever one of your friends dragged you along to the zoo, you would always find a reason not to go near the bear enclosure - you needed the toilet, or you wanted to ask a keeper about something, or you were hungry, or you needed a cigarette, anything and everything not to feel that wave of sadness that would come with remembering that you were an idiot that had refused to stay in contact with Byers. 

“It’s the little things,” Byers chuckled sadly. “The little things always make me think of you more than the big ones… coffee, alligators, cigarettes…” 

“Bears, ties, JFK,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “Every time I see something about that cunt, I always think about telling you.” 

“Did… did you just call President Kennedy the c-word?” Byers asked with a little bit of disbelief and his jaw slack, gawking at you. 

“Yeah, I just called JFK a cunt,” you laughed softly. 

“Oh, for- good  _ lord _ ,” he sighed, although he was unable to keep the smile that spread across his lips when you laughed, shaking his head fondly. “You can’t say that.” 

“I can call JFK a cunt,” you shrugged, unable to stop the small laugh that came from the back of your throat. “Anyways, you’re right, it’s always the little bits of bullshit that make me think of you when I least expect it… doesn’t stop me from buying that paper of yours, though.” 

Byers’ eyes went wide as he tilted his head at you. “You… you read The Lone Gunman?”

You leaned back in your seat as you nodded and licked your lips. “Yeah, of fucking course I read it - it’s pretty good, actually. I quite like it… can always tell when it’s something written by you, though.” 

“What do you mean?” He asked gently, politely as he swallowed thickly. 

“I mean, when you’ve written something, it’s…” you shrugged. “It’s like I can hear your voice in my head when I read it, y’know? You got this… this distinctive style or whatever it’s fucking called, I dunno, but shit, I can always here your fucking voice in my head when I read your bits. I dunno, I probably sound stupid as fuck, but the point is - I can tell when it’s your shit that you’ve written, and it’s good, John, it’s fucking good.” 

Byers could not help but to blush at the compliments he was being given, scratching at the back of his neck as he stuttered out a sentence of gratitude, although even then he did not feel as if it was adequate enough of a thanks, But nevertheless, he still paid for the coffee, a small repayment for the entire day, and after a little bit more shopping and loading the bags into the back of the van, Byers was just about ready to get going and get gone before anyone else could see you both; but just as he was about to open the passenger door for you as you coolly smoked a cigarette whilst leaning against the van, he noticed someone approaching that was probably the last person in the world he wanted to see in his life. 

Louis. 

One of your old friends that used to pick on him and tease him, one of your old friends that you used to fight on a regular basis just to stick up for Byers. 

“Well, well, well,” Louis beamed, a slight limp to his walk, clearly having never properly healed up from the time you snapped his leg and broke it. “Fuck me, if it ain’t the prince in peril and his knight in shitty armour.” 

“The fuck do you want, Louis?” You growled, putting yourself between him and Byers, a puff of grey smoke hitting Louis’ face that made him take a step back. “You ain’t gonna start shit, are you? I mean, it’s been fuckin’ years.” 

“You broke my fucking leg,” he hissed, shaking his head. “Just to what? Protect that little dickhead?”

“He ain’t a dickhead,” you snarled, flicking your cigarette at him. “Fuck off.” 

Grabbing your shoulder, Louis yanked you over to his side, looking at Byers with a grin. “If I smashed his pretty little head in, you wouldn’t do shit, would you?”

Byers couldn’t answer, not really sure how he was supposed to react, was he supposed to grab his phone and call for help? Was he supposed to jump into action and help you? Was he supposed to answer the question? He was frozen, scared on your behalf, but then Louis let out a howl and threw you aside. 

“Don’t grab the dog’s tail if you don’t want it to fuckin’ bite, mate,” you ran your tongue along your teeth as you smirked. 

“You fucking bit me!” Louis howled before shaking his head and cracking his knuckles. “And you!” He pointed at Byers. “Oh, boy, you’re gonna fucking-” 

“Touch him, I fucking dare you,” you barked, squaring up to Louis without a care; sure, he was at least six-foot-five, and definitely a lot bigger than you, a lot stronger than you, but you didn’t care - you fought him back then, you would fight him, now. “Go on, mate, fuckin’ try it. I dare you.” 

“Gonna let your boyfriend do the fighting for you?” Louis looked past you, glaring at Byers with a raised brow, but just as he was about to reach around you to grab him, you grabbed a hold of Louis’ arm, and yanked it down, pushing him back with a swift kick to the stomach. When Louis took another swing, you lifted your arms up to block it, wincing a little at the punch that landed to your forearm, gritting your teeth as you dared to push him back again, baring your teeth. “You’re always fucking sticking up for that little bitch, (y/n). You haven’t changed a day.” 

“Well, fuck me, Louis, I wonder why that is,” you spat at him, gesturing for Byers to leave, which he did after a second of freezing up, leaving to go and make a phone call to Langly, he felt awful for it, but he had hope that you would be able to defend yourself. 

Louis grabbed you by the back of the neck, slamming you into the side of the van and sighing heavily as he used his free hand to grab your wrist and yank it up to between your shoulder blades, causing you to howl out in agony, squeezing your eyes tightly shut as you dared to wriggle free; you kept throwing punches at him, but he didn’t seem all that phased, swiping at your calf with his foot and squatting down when you were on the floor. He stamped on your hands when you tried to push yourself up, and kicked your ribs and your stomach as you laid there. You were losing, you knew that without even having to think of it, but you still tried to fight, rolling onto your back and forcing yourself upright, spitting blood into Louis’ face as you growled and shook your head. 

“This is why you’re still single, babe,” you hissed, swaying from side to side and trying to let the adrenaline overpower the agony. But when Louis went to grab your hair, you caught his wrist, and quickly slid behind him, tugging the appendage up to his shoulder blades and forcing your knee to his back, letting him tumble to the ground as you yanked him over, straddling him as you spat blood in his green eyes and shook your head. “You gonna fuck off, now?”

“No,” he barked, wincing when you grabbed a fistful of his curly light brown hair and hit him, over and over, your knuckles growing bloody as you kept at it until he turned his head and spat out a puddle of blood and a couple of teeth onto the ground. 

“I can do this all day,” you growled. “Can you?”

“Get the fuck off me,” Louis begged, wincing when you smashed your forehead against his. “Fuck you… I’ll go, I’ll go…” 

“You better,” you snarled in his face, “you better fuck right off and leave me and Byers alone - got that?” 

“I got it,” he wheezed. “I got it.” 

At some point after the altercation, you must have passed out and been escorted home, because when you opened your eyes, you were on your sofa, and aching and sore all over; groaning, you tried to stand up, but a gentle hand pushed you down. 

“I found you passed out in the carpark,” you knew that voice, too well, and when you looked at the end of the sofa, you saw Byers sat by your legs. “I am so sorry I wasn’t brave enough to help you, I am… good-” 

“If you say good grief or good lord, I’m gonna kick you in the fucking bollocks,” you weakly joked, shaking your head at him. “Fuck, why do I hurt so much?”

“You have a split lip, two black eyes, cuts all over your face, and I’m pretty sure you cracked a couple of ribs, too,” Byers told you, sad and melancholic. “I wanted to patch you up, but you were out cold and I- I am so sorry, (y/n), I am… I am so, so sorry that I let you go through that, I am so sorry, I’m-” 

“Quit apologising,” you grumbled, slowly sitting up and sighing heavily, trying to ignore the pain that shot through you like fire through oil. “Fuck… don’t worry about apologising, John, you… you didn’t do anything… anything wrong.” 

“You got beaten up for me,” he said softly. “I-” 

“I’ll take a few fucking bruises for you,” you insisted. “Because I know you’re goddamn worth it… fuck, John, I’d do anything for you.” 

“You would?” Byers asked quietly. 

“Sure I would,” you nodded. There was an uneasy silence as Byers walked out and left you, making you curse yourself well and truly for the moments he was gone, but when he returned with the first aid kit and sat too close to you for it to have been just to patch you up, you couldn’t help but to lay your hand on his thigh, smiling weakly as you met his gaze. “And here we are again.” 

Byers flashed you a sad smile for a few moments, but he was silent as he went to work on patching you up, the grazes and cuts on your arms, the re-opened scabs that littered your skin; all he could do was to vent out his guilt and tell you how sorry he was that he had not even tried to step in, how awful he felt for not helping, how disgusted with himself he was for letting that happen to you, how well and truly terrible he had felt with himself for it all, how sorry he was when you growled and snarled at the sting of the antiseptic. All Byers could do was apologise time and time again, none of which you accepted, he didn’t need to apologise, he didn’t need to tell you that he was sorry for what had happened. You didn’t want his apologies. But then he was so close that, when you turned your head, you could feel his breath on your skin, making you shiver as he gently wound a bandage around your hand, his gaze on yours, his breath growing a little bit heavier as your gaze fell to his lips and he swallowed thickly. Waiting for you to take that step. And you were just about to - you were just about to lean in and kiss him when Langly burst into the room, holding a sheet of paper in their hands, but when they saw you and Byers, they gawked for a second before clearing their throat, feeling more than guilt as they watched you and Byers pull away from one another with heavy sighs. 

“Yes, Langly?” Byers whined, a little more than disappointed at being interrupted. If they had just waited, if only they had just waited for a few moments. 

“I, uh, I found something,” they shrugged. “That Louis guy? He’s got ties to Charlie. Turns out, Louis actually helped Charlie - according to Scully and Mulder, the two were- y’know what? It can wait.” 

“No, no, it can’t wait,” Byers replied with a melancholic stain to his voice, but he turned to you, frowning. “I’m just going to be in the other room, is that-” 

“Go,” you grumbled, shaking your head. “Go on, get your article done, Journalist of The Year.” 

Byers bent down to kiss your forehead sweetly before disappearing into the kitchen; you could hear the muffled conversations and agreements, but not even five minutes must have passed before Langly and Byers were back. 

“Frohike’s going to handle it,” Byers told you, crashing back down into his spot beside you, tugging the blanket off from the back of the sofa and tugging it over himself and you while Langly got comfortable in the chair beside the sofa. Grabbing the television remote, Byers offered you a smile that wasn’t quite reassuring, fear in his eyes. “Jimmy said that The Good, The Bad and The Ugly’s on channel two, if you want to watch it.” 

“Fuck it, why not?” You shrugged, wincing a little as you dared to cuddle into him; Byers was happy to reciprocate, although hesitant due to your wounds, but when you relaxed into him, he couldn’t help but to melt at your touch and to bask in it as much as he possibly could. It had been a day, that much was true, he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all, of the unexpected fight that seemed to come from almost nowhere, but even still, he did his best to focus on the film on the television. But nothing more was said, nothing more could be said when, around halfway through the film, Byers realised that he was the only one still half-awake, Langly gently snoring in the chair as they had their back pressed to one arm and their legs dangled over the other, their arms folded across their chest; Byers looked down at you with a tired smile, wrapped around him like some sort of anaconda as he held you tightly, but even he could not resist the temptation of a quick nap as he snuggled down and hummed lowly, getting comfortable before kissing your forehead and letting himself fall asleep at last. Letting himself slip into dreams of you and dreams of a white picket fence and dreams of starting a family together and dreams of being content with life and dreams of being happy and in love and foolish. Sweet dreams was what they were, and he never wanted them to end; not when he could dream so happily of your kiss and your touch, not when he could dream a thousand little dreams of life with you and of loving you and being loved by you, not when he could dream so sweetly of so many things, not knowing that you were dreaming just the same things as he was, not knowing that, within your sleep, you were muttering and mumbling his name against his side, muttering and mumbling as if you were talking to the one and only person you had ever and would ever love truly and entirely and wholly. Sweet dreams, indeed. 

After that fateful day, the Gunmen had decided to give you some space, they had decided to keep their distance from you for a small while, which was hard considering that they were staying at your house, but you did appreciate the gesture; what you appreciated more, though, was that Langly had gotten in touch with Karl and Megan and Lucy and had told them about your condition, how you were injured and could not leave your house for a few moments, and while you did kind of resent the fact that they had given away your cover, you did still appreciate it when they all walked in. Lucy was holding flowers, which she placed down on the coffee table gently, Karl had brought chocolates, which he had already started to eat as he knew that you wouldn’t like them, a gesture which made you laugh softly, and Megan had brought flowers and chocolates and cards and some other things, some bits and bobs and pieces, she even brought over a homemade soup in a flask that you could eat while you were still recovering, meaning that you did not have to cook or to get up in order to make sure that you weren’t starving. 

“Some things just don’t change, huh?” Karl teased while Megan and Lucy busied themselves with doing a few chores and a few other things for you that you had admitted needed to be done but could not do yourself just yet. He sat down on the coffee table opposite you, his legs spread and his hands clasped between his knees as he raised a brow. 

You scoffed, shaking your head and sighing heavily as you dared to roll your eyes at him. “Don’t you fucking start.” 

“What?” Karl chuckled, shrugging. “I’m just saying, some old habits really don’t die… swear down, when it comes to John, you act like you’re some sorta Superman, always protecting and sticking up for him like he’s some guy in trouble in Metropolis.” 

“Ain’t my fault,” you grumbled, shifting where you were laid and wincing a little at how the pain coursed through your veins and caused you to ache and to feel nothing but agony. “You remember Louis, you-” 

“Yeah, I know,” he nodded solemnly, sighing heavily. “How you feeling, anyways, Superman?”

“Like shit,” you chuckled. “So, exactly how you look.” 

“Oh, fuck you,” Karl grinned. “At least I’m not nearly killing myself in order to stick up for someone.” 

“I didn’t nearly get killed,” you whined. “I’m fine!” 

“Oh, really?” His brow rose as he tilted his head and hummed, not even close to believing you or to even thinking about considering it. “Then how come you’re whining like a fucking dog that went and got its leg broke?”

You were so close to grabbing the pillow from behind your head and throwing at him, but you decided not to, snuggling down and shaking your head. “I hate you.” 

“Come here,” Karl sighed, shaking his head and kneeling at your side as he dared to press a sweet kiss to your forehead. “You’re an idiot.” 

“So are you,” you shot back with a pained smile. “How are you, anyway, man?” 

“Well, now that I know you’re alive and that you’re not, y’know, dead in a ditch somewhere, I’m pretty good,” he admitted, “fuck, man, we all missed you so much - we thought we’d never see you again, we didn’t know where the fuck you were, we hadn’t heard from you in years, and we… fuck you, man, I wanna be so angry at you right now, but I can’t. Because, yeah, you’re all fucked up and mauled, but you’re alive! You’re fucking alive! Do you realise how happy Mum is gonna be to find that out?” 

“Ah, yeah, Kathy,” you chuckled with a nod and a knowing hum. “How is she these days?”

“She misses you,” Karl told you, “you were the third son she never had, (y/n), she misses you every day - fuck, I even caught her davening, for you.” 

“I’m sorry, mate,” you admitted, sighing. “I didn’t mean to worry you, or Kathy, like that. Let her know I’m alright, won’t you?” 

“But what about staying, y’know, underground?” Karl asked with a slight whine to his voice, not really wanting to tell his mother about the fact that you were alive and well. 

“It’s your mum, Karl,” you shook your head. “She can know. I love Kathy to bits, she… you know I don’t wanna worry her.” 

“Alright,” he hummed, patting your hand gently as he dared to stand up, gently giving your forehead one last time before he frowned. “I gotta go, but, uh, but I gave Langly mine and Mum’s phone numbers - if you ever want anything, even if it’s just, I dunno, even if it’s just a fucking hug, y’know?”

“Karl, before you go,” you held his hand tightly for a second, daring to smile up at him. “I love you, man.” 

“I love you, too. I’ll be back in a bit, though, gotta run up the shop, first is all.” 

And with that, Karl left the house, but not before pausing to say goodbye to Megan and Lucy until he actually left, closing the door behind him; you only had a couple of moments to yourself until Megan walked in, gently sitting down beside you and humming softly as she dared to lay her hand over yours, tilting her head as she frowned at you. 

“Are you okay?” Megan asked. “Do you need a hot water bottle? An ice pack? Do you want me to get you anything? Some water? A snack? Anything at all?” 

You shook your head as you groaned and leaned back into your sofa, grunting softly at the pain that dared to course through you once more, sighing heavily and swallowing thickly. “Nah, I’m… I’m good, thanks…” 

“Really?” She pressed. “You know you can tell me if you’re not… you don’t look it, and I’m… honey, I’m worried for you.” 

You had to admit that you did always love that Megan was always quite kind and quite attentive with you, always so gentle, but she was always like that with everyone, which always made you smile, even times when you were sick and injured and bloodied and bruised. “I’m okay, Meg, promise. I’m okay.” 

“Sure you’re not even hungry?” She questioned. “Langly - they told us, buddy, they told us what happened, where you’ve been.” 

I’m sorry, Meg, I never meant to hurt you, I just-” 

“You didn’t,” she replied softly, “you didn’t hurt me, or Lucy, or Karl, or anyone. We love you, so much, and we’re all just glad you’re safe and sound.” 

“That a promise?” You asked weakly, raising a brow and sighing once more. 

“Yeah, it’s a promise,” she gently stroked your hair, so tender and so gentle. “We love you, no matter what you do or what you’ve done, we all love you so much and we understand what you did and why… honestly, just the fact that you’re home, it’s-” she cut herself off with a sniffle and wiping a tear away from the corner of her eye as she dared to smile. “Do you realise how much of a fucking relief it is to know that you’re home?” 

“Alright, motherfuckers, I’m back!” Karl howled, barging into the room and sliding onto his knees in front of you, dumping a shopping bag on the coffee table, he shifted around a little bit so that he was sat on the floor at your side, his back against the wall and his hand moving up to yours as he gripped it tightly and grinned. “I hope you don’t mind, but I got some snacks.” 

“Karl, you idiot,” Megan slapped him around the back of the head. “We were talking!” 

“Yeah, sure, you were talking, but I got snacks,” he beamed. “I got Doritos, I got dip, I got Kitkats, I got some Yorkies, I got Red Bull, I got French Fries, fuck, I even got Wotsits.” 

“You got Wotsits?” You asked with a soft whine, hopeful that he was telling the truth, hopeful that he had actually gone and bought some of the crisps, perking up a little. 

“Fuck yeah I did,” Karl nodded. “John told me to pick up two packets, though, so, uh, I did.” 

“You’re such a legend, mate,” you scoffed, making grabby hands at him until he passed you a packet of Wotsits at last, chuckling as you struggled to open them. 

“Is our Superman hungry?” Lucy asked as she walked in, raising a brow and sitting on the coffee table, moving Karl’s bag over a little as she stole a Yorkie bar for herself. 

“I’m snacky, sue me,” you tittered. “Look, I’m glad you guys are all here, I really am, but-” 

“But you’d rather act like you’re some kinda Superman than use your common sense,” Karl and Lucy said at the same time, sparing one another a glance and a laugh. 

“What? It’s true?” Karl shrugged when you glared right at him. “You would rather act like you’re invincible.” 

“Yeah, you’re not exactly known for having common sense,” Lucy added with a shrug. 

The comments made you laugh, although that in turn made your ribs hurt and caused you to roll onto your side so that you could clutch them, lifting your knees up to just below your chest in order to try and make them stop hurting. 

“Oh, sugar, are you okay?” Megan fretted, gasping a little as she shook her head at you. “Do you need some tablets? An ice pack? Or-” 

“I’m fine,” you growled, shaking your head and groaning beneath your breath. “I’m okay, honestly… I’m okay.” 

“Yeah, about as fine as a fucking badger that’s been hit by a car,” Karl muttered, rolling his eyes. 

“Fine like a fucking moudly chip, maybe,” Lucy added with a huff as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Leave him be, you two,” Megan tutted, shaking her head before looking at you, concern and curiosity etched across her features. “What made you do it, (y/n)? Why did you do it?”

“You know why,” you bayed lowly and harshly. “All three of you bastards knows why.” 

“No we don’t,” Karl shook his head. “Why the fuck did you get into the fight, (y/n)?”

“Why did you get into that fight if you knew it was gonna end bad?” Megan asked. “I mean, why did you stick up for John and get into a fight if you knew that you were only going to get hurt?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes and trying not to shift around too much, trying not to cause your wounds to ache more. Your voice was broken, choking on air that made you wheeze when you breathed in and out, your ribs ached, so badly, but you shook your head to clear yourself of it, to try and focus on something other than the pain. “Because… fuck, because I’d do anything for him, you know that. I would… I would do fucking anything for him, and then some. I’d be willing to risk my own fucking life if it meant that he wouldn’t have so much as a goddamn scratch on his fucking perfect face. I’d do anything for him, you guys know that, one… one little fight doesn’t mean a lick of fucking shit if it meant he didn’t get hurt.” 

“Wow, you really do think that you’re Superman,” Karl snickered. 

“Where’s fucking Batman when you need him?” Lucy asked jokingly, nudging Karl in the side. 

“Y’know, speaking of John, we were pretty lucky,” Megan admitted, nodding when you looked at her so confused and vexed. “(Y/N), he didn’t leave your side. He didn’t move. Langly even told us that John would get up in the middle of the night, just to sleep next to you. Fuck, man, you’ve been asleep all day and… well, Langly told us, they said that John would keep sneaking in to see how you were doing, they both said you wanted space, which is fine, but… shit, Langly even told us that they practically had to drag John away from you because he was so insistent on being at your side.” 

“He’s a good guy,” you groaned, nodding. “But you guys are good, too.” 

“To be fair, we did do your cleaning,” Lucy nodded. 

“And we cooked for you and the boys,” Megan added. 

“But we should’ve been there, actually,” Karl frowned. “I mean, shit, we should’ve been there to help you kick Louis’ ass. Motherfucker deserves it.” 

“Guys, it’s fine, honestly, I-”

“No, no, you rest,” Lucy shook her head as she glared at you. “You fucking rest, Superman, you’ve done enough.” 

“Luce-” 

“Zip it.” She commanded. “I’m gonna do your laundry, Megan’s gonna cook some more to stock up your freezer, and Karl…” 

“I’ll roll cigarettes,” he grinned, practically tripping on his own feet as he ran out of the living room and skidded into the kitchen, but he was immediately accosted by the Gunmen when they saw him, Byers being the one to jump out of his seat and to catch Karl by the arms. 

“How is he?”

“He’s good,” Karl nodded, shrugging. “He’s alright - bit whiny, bit mangey, but y’know, still our (y/n).” 

“What do you mean whiny? Is he in pain? He’s not got an infection, has he? Oh, good lord, I knew-” 

“Calm it, John,” Karl said slowly. “(Y/N) is fine. He’s just sore and bruised up is all.” 

“You can’t tell Byers that (y/n)’s fine and then tell him that,” Langly told him. “You have to lie.” 

“Yeah, lying to Byers was probably a better idea,” Frohike added. 

“I wouldn’t lie,” Jimmy commented. 

“But you’re being honest, right?” Byers begged. “He’s fine, he’s not-” 

“Dude, I will smack you so hard that your fucking beard will end up on Mars,” Karl joked. “(y/n) is absolutely fine. He is okay. He’s doing just fine. Okay? You’re worrying too much, Megan and Lucy are in there with him now.” 

Byers sighed, letting Karl go as he nodded, swiping a hand down his face and licking his lips. “Alright, okay… as long as you’re sure that he’s fine.” 

“He really is,” Karl nodded, breaking free and heading over to where you kept your cigarette things; he rolled two before flashing the Gunmen a grin. “I’m on smoke duty, y’know, me and (y/n) can’t live without it.” 

The four companions, friends, siblings, colleagues, all let out a disapproving sigh and a groan, but they soon returned to their work, finishing up their article and ensuring that they had all of what they needed as they allowed the day to go by; they didn’t mind so much that you were spending time with your three friends, they didn’t mind so much that Lucy and Megan went around and focused on this and that and the other, making sure that you didn’t have to do anything while you and Karl lounged about in the living room smoking cigarettes and eating snacks and drinking far too much Red Bull, using one of the first empty cans as an ashtray - the Gunmen didn’t say anything, not really, only daring to ask how you were whenever Karl came out to dump rubbish in the bin and to give up all but one Red Bull can to the recycling bin. Although all of them did have to admit that they were quite worried, as every now and then, they would hear you loudly groan and moan and grumble after laughing, and although they didn’t particularly want to admit it, they were all quite worried that you had broken a rib or two, but when they reached out to Scully to ask about it, she admitted that it was more than likely just bruised, and that there was nothing they could actually do about it except to go careful; you were worrying them, Byers especially, but none of them dared to say anything, as they trusted your friends and their judgements. 

“He’s still fine,” Karl said as he and Lucy and Megan prepared to leave, finishing off one last cigarette in the kitchen as he looked at the Gunmen. “Grumbly as shit, without a doubt, but… he’s okay. He’s alright.” 

“Thanks for swinging by, man,” Langly said. “I’m pretty sure that (y/n) needed that more than he wants to admit.” 

“We’re all gonna make sure that he stays underground,” Karl replied, “don’t worry about that - he told me that I could tell my mum, but I’m not sure if I will… she’s not exactly the best at keeping secrets, even if she does mean well.” 

“Probably for the best,” Byers admitted, nodding. “But you three will make sure that you all stay safe, right?” 

“‘Course we will,” Karl shrugged. “We’re friends with (y/n), I’m pretty sure we could survive anywhere.” 

Seeing him to the door, the three Gunmen bid goodbye to your three friends while Byers snuck in to see you, frowning as he looked down at you. 

“Hey, if it isn’t my favourite person in the world,” you coughed. 

“You were reckless,” Byers said softly, sitting down beside your legs and huffing. “You didn’t have to do that, you didn’t have to get into a fight for-” 

“For you?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “John, I would do fucking anything and everything for you, I don’t give a shit if it means I can’t-” 

“But you didn’t have to,” he insisted. “I could’ve fought him, I could’ve-” 

“No, you couldn’t’ve,” you hissed. “And besides, it’s in the past, right? It’s done. The damage is done, and I don’t regret it.” 

“(y/n), you can’t keep getting into fights for me,” he whined. “What if he had…” 

“Had what?” You raised a brow. “Killed me?” 

Byers only nodded as an answer. 

“Then I would’ve died, I don’t give a shit if protecting you means risking my life.” You were as grave and serious as the dead, and Byers knew that, which he had to admit, it killed him and pained him to know that. “I don’t fucking care if I die, if it means you don’t get hurt!” 

“But you should!” He didn’t raise his voice, not by the slightest, but there was a sternness in his voice, a certain growl to it. “You should because I don’t know what I would do if you did!” 

“Oh, jeez,” Langly cringed when they heard you and Byers arguing, sighing as they frowned. “Why don’t you two just do it and get it over with?”

You both glared at them for a moment before you turned to Byers and huffed. “Why do you care so fucking much, John?” 

“Because I went without you once,” he admitted softly. “I went without you and I lost you once… not again. I can’t… not again.” 

“So, what, you expect me to stop protecting you?” You asked, shaking your head. “That’s not fucking happening.” 

“(Y/N)-” 

“No, John, fucking listen,” you snarled. “Fucking listen to me. I do not care if I get a few bruises, a few fucking cuts here and there, I don’t fucking give a shit, so long as it means that  _ you  _ don’t get hurt.” 

But Byers couldn’t react, he wasn’t exactly sure how to explain to you that he was panicking, he was panicking and he felt guilty for not being there, for not helping you, he didn’t want to lose you again, never again, all he could do was to sigh and to turn around to leave; he spent the rest of the day with his nose buried in a newspaper, He didn’t talk to anybody or do anything except read article after article, he didn’t want to talk about it; but when nightfall came and he was alone in his room, he cracked the window open a little bit, wincing at the stiffness of it as he sat on the floor and read through even more newspapers, unable to sleep, unable to do anything really except to immerse himself in his work. 

But his peace didn’t exactly last for long, as at exactly one-oh-three, there was a commotion outside, and when he went to look out of his window, he caught you hanging onto it, breathless and pained as you struggled to keep your grip. 

“(y/n), what on earth are you doing?” He asked, eyes wide and his hands immediately holding onto your wrists so that you wouldn’t fall. 

“Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.” You managed to stutter out, breathless and cracked, full of pain as you dared to smile at him. “I came to say sorry… I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that and-” 

“It’s me who should be sorry,” Byers told you, frowning as he let go of you for a split few seconds to try and open the window a little wider, but alas, it would not budge, and he knew that he would not be able to tug you into his room through the window. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-” 

“No, I should be sorry, as well, I snapped at you when you were…” you shrugged, shaking your head. “You were right. I was reckless and stupid - but I meant it, y’know.” 

“I know, and that’s what scares me,” he admitted quietly, swallowing thickly. “You’re going to hurt yourself even more climbing up here.” 

“I don’t care,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “Call this the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet if you want, I… fuck, I needed to see you.” 

Holding onto your wrists once more, tight but secure, Byers leaned down slightly so that he could be closer to you, a trace of a smile on his lips as he sighed. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

“I don’t give a shit,” you smiled at him, looking at his hands for a moment before looking back up at him, how those blue eyes glittered and shone, how they made you want nothing more but to be able to kiss him and to hold him. “What’s one more bruise at this point? What’s one more scrape and cut? If it means I get to feel your skin on mine.” 

“Climb down,” Byers quietly begged. “Please, climb down… I can’t have you hurting yourself again.” 

“I would, but,” somehow, you managed to push the window open wide enough to perch on the edge of it, but not quite to get yourself through, you dared to grin. “I could do that, instead.” 

“I loosened it,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Besides, don’t you think that this could’ve waited until morning?”

“No,” you leaned over just enough to kiss his cheek as you smugly beamed at him. “No, it couldn’t have waited until morning.” 

Byers tried, once again, to push the window open enough for you to crawl in through it, and it did catch him off guard when it swung open, causing you to fall into his arms with a harsh thud, chuckling as you straddled him, your hands on his chest. 

“Well, this is unexpected,” you mused. “Is that a rolled up newspaper in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Byers made no effort to push you off, looking up at you as he swallowed thickly and tried to shift his hips away from you. “Uh, I do have my phone, my ID, and-”

“I was joking,” you rolled your eyes as you kept your smile, leaning down to kiss his forehead as you tried to ignore how hot your face felt. “But, uh, seeming as how I’m here… mind if I sleep with you? Literally, I mean, I’m fucking exhausted.” 

Byers smiled, trying not to laugh softly at the request as he took in a harsh breath and nodded. “I have some work to do, but… if it’ll help you to sleep, I don’t see why not.”

“I can sleep on you while you work,” you mused. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I’m not complaining,” Byers said softly for fear that you thought he was, for fear that you thought that he was trying to politely say no. 

“I know,” you whispered. “But, John?”

“Yeah?”

“I really am sorry,” you sighed. “I know you-”

“No, stop it,” he shook his head. “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I was in the wrong. Okay?”

It had been behind your back, it had been behind your back and without your knowledge that Karl, Megan and Lucy had reached out to the Gunmen to talk about your feelings for Byers, they had reached out to Jimmy and to Langly, and they had reached out to Frohike, at this point so desperate for help that they would have gone to Queen Mab for assistance and not so much have blinked an eye at whatever she would have told them; getting around your life and getting you alone was not so much of a problem, as rather it was between Langly and Frohike and Jimmy to decide who would talk to you and who would attempt to finally get you to agree to tell Byers how you felt for him, how your heart ached and yearned and pined and longed for his, to be his, to belong to his. And it seemed as if luck was not on Frohike’s side, as Langly and Jimmy departed with Byers to go and find something for the article, a few finishing touches for it, meaning that he was the one who had to make up an excuse to stay behind and to go and see you, to find you. 

You knew all too well that you should have stayed in bed, you knew all too well that you were far from well enough to be wandering around and to be making your wounds itch and your scabs sting as they threatened to crack and reopen, you knew that Byers would have killed you if you caught you, but Byers wasn’t there at the moment, and it was the only opportunity that you had to clear your mind and to properly think through everything that had been coursing through it like the love sprung from an only hate. You were out in the woods, lost amongst the trees and the grass and the bushes and the moss and where the river flowed gentle and sang along to the crying clouds, hands stuffed into your pockets and your gaze down at the ground, not looking at the birds that flew overhead and sang, not looking at the squirrels that scambered along branches and disappeared into the thick bushy treetops, a sigh escaping your mouth, pale and grey like smoke as you trudged out of the foggy maze of the treeline, and made your way to the path; you didn’t bother to look up until you heard Frohike calling your name and dared to watch as he dared to approach. 

“Morning,” he greeted with a soft smile. 

“Is it really morning already?” You asked softly, your gaze returning to the ground, the moss and the pebbles and the clay and the mud that shifted as you fell into step beside him. 

“About nine o’clock,” Frohike told you, capturing your glare for a moment as he showed you his watch. Eight fifty-eight in the morning. 

“Fuck me, sad hours are long,” you grumbled, taking a quick look up at the sky, the foggy pale grey canvas of which looked like your breath each time you had dared to let out the most melancholic and woeful of sighs. “What’s up, anyways? Don’t you guys have a, uh, a thing for the article? An interview or some bullshit?”

“Ah, y’know, I stayed behind,” he shrugged. “Someone had to keep an eye on you, right?”

“And you drew the short straw,” you chuckled bitterly, shaking your head as you dared to let out another sigh, they seemed to be growing more melancholic and woeful and saddened with each one that passed. “It’s cold, you should go back to the house, forget about me. I’ll be home in a minute.” 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Frohike protested with a shake of his head. “I can’t let you stay out here all alone - what if you get lonely?”

“That’s sweet, very sweet, but we both know that I’m capable of looking after myself, and I’m capable of dealing with my own loneliness,” you told him with a deadpan voice and a frown. 

“Besides,” he shrugged, “I wanted to talk to you - about Byers.” 

“Oh, fuck,” you cursed, groaning loudly and wanting the earth to swallow you up and to cover you in piles of dirt and thousands of flowers. “Do we have to? Can’t we talk about, I dunno, films or something instead?”

Frohike would have liked to talk to you about films or television, he would have liked to talk to you about anything else in the world, as he could tell that you were far from enthusiastic about wanting to open up about the situation, but even still, he knew that he had promised Langly and Jimmy that he would, and that if he didn’t, then he would also be making the promise that had been made to Karl and to Megan and to Lucy, too. “Maybe some other time, but I think it’s best we did talk about Byers.” 

“Fine,” you huffed, shaking your head and daring to spare him a quick look. “Alright. What do you wanna know?”

“Well, for a start, why haven’t you just…” he shrugged as he frowned and looked at you. “As thankful and grateful as I am that you stuck up for him and that you protect him, which I really am, I can’t… I can’t understand why you haven’t just admitted your feelings for him, why you haven’t just told him.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” you shrugged, brushing him off and, with a few whines and protests of agony, jumped onto one of the trees and climbed up it partly, walking along a long and sturdy branch as you looked down at Frohike, walking slightly behind him yet at least five feet above him. “It’s really not a big deal. I would’ve done the same for Karl. I definitely would’ve done the same for Megan. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t have acted any differently if it was anyone else, y’know? John- Byers is… he’s my friend, Frohike, and I’d happily get bruised for a… a friend.” 

Looking up at you amongst the branches and the leaves, Frohike shook his head; it was making his neck ache a little bit to crane it up and to search for you, but it was a dull ache, and one that he could easily ignore. “Is he just a friend, though?”

You dared to slope down one branch that hung low and dipped down, your legs draped over the side as you leaned on your forearms, harsh but damp bark pressing into your wounds that made you seethe as you rested your chin upon the aching limbs with a sigh. “He is. He’s always been a… nothing more than a friend.” 

“Yet you can’t sleep when you’re not around him,” Frohike started, “and you act like a lovesick puppy-dog around him. You could’ve gotten-” 

“Myself killed,” you purred with a certain annoyance as you rolled your eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard that one a million and two times… trust me, I know very well that I could’ve gotten myself killed in that fight.” 

“But you did it without hesitating, anyways,” he added. “C’mon, (Y/n), it’s not like you’re hiding it. I know as well as Jimmy and Langly know what you really feel for him - so why not just admit it?”

You pinned Frohike to the spot with your gaze, something about it so freezing as you stayed laid on that tree branch, staring as you bared your teeth in order to yawn, but you soon shook your head and sucked in a harsh breath. “Why should I admit it?”

“Because you make each other happy,” Frohike guessed. “And I know that I haven’t seen Byers so happy since he found you again.” 

“So? People are always so happy when they see an old friend,” you shot back with a gentle growl. “What does that have to do with admitting my feelings?”

“He loves you,” he told you softly. 

“Loves me?” You laughed, shaking your head and placing your palm down on a branch that was within arm’s reach, a branch of cherry blossoms that had the petals growing pale pink and white, and you gently bounced the branch beneath your hand as you chuckled. “He can love me all he wants, it doesn’t mean I’ll ever be good enough or I’ll ever deserve him.” 

“What do you mean?” He asked, tilting his head and brushing the white and pink petals from his jacket when they were kissed by the wind and landed on his shoulders. 

“Oh, c’mon, man, you know as well as I do that I don't deserve Byers. I'm a criminal, I live off of money I stole from a bank. I'm not good enough for Byers. I'm not... it ain't right that I should be with him when he deserves so much better. You know as well as I do that someone like me ain't good enough for someone like him,” you dared to drop down from amongst the trees with a few whines and howls of agony, but when Frohike rushed to your side to help you and to offer a hand, you brushed him off. “You know it, I know it, Jimmy knows it, Langly knows it, Karl knows it, Megan knows it, Lucy knows it, fuck, even the fucking man on the moon knows it - I’m. Not. Good. Enough. For. Byers.” 

“You seem like a good enough guy to me,” Frohike told you, taking a step back when you glared at him and bared your teeth, regaining your strength in your arms and your ribs and everywhere else that was sore and bruised and battered and had been wrecked by that fight. “The guys like you, too, I mean, Langly thinks you’re great because of your music and Jimmy… well, Jimmy kinda loves everyone because he’s an idiot but… that kid’s got a heart of gold and he adores you. We all think you’re an okay guy, (y/n), we… we wanna see Byers happy, and we wanna see you happy, too.” 

“So tell Byers to move on,” you lamented, shaking your head and daring to stay a pace or two in front of him as you began to start walking once more. “Tell Byers to move on, because as much as I… as much as I care for him, I know that I’ll never be good enough to make him happy every day. I know I’ll never deserve him… I… I can live with the isolation and the pain of a broken heart, Frohike, I can live with that - I’ve done it for years, I don’t see why forever would be any different.” 

Frohike was deeply saddened by your words, how they stung and cut like razor blades and made his heart wince and seethe and whine in agony and anguish, and he did want to weep for you and to try and think of some way to help you out and to assure you, to find some way to confirm that you were wrong; he wanted to weep for you, so badly, but he knew that he could not. Sure, at first, Frohike had been a little more than hesitant to know you and to meet you, but now… now you had grown on him, he had found that he did actually quite like you and did find you to be quite good company, he had grown to enjoy your presence and to feel safe around you in the way that one would feel at ease by the presence of their favourite cousin at the family reunion. Frohike did quite like you, and sure, he would have pushed for you and Byers to have admitted your feelings until the cows came home and the rivers dried up and it stopped fucking raining. But he wasn’t sure how to go about such business, as he knew that words were his only weapon, and they could be so easily shielded against. In all honesty, Frohike thought you were an alright guy, he thought that, maybe, if things were different, you were the kind of man that he would talk to on the street, that he would befriend; sure, he knew that you had done some bad things in your past, and some things that weren’t exactly bad but weren’t exactly good either, he knew that you had done what it had taken to survive and that that had been your only concern for far too long - making it through one day and getting to the next. He didn’t hold any of that against you, he couldn’t. There wasn’t a single cell in his entire body that would or could hold such things against you, that could blame you for doing what you needed to and for simply doing your best not to die. You were good, you were a good man, and Frohike knew that, he knew that you were a good man and that although you would probably not admit it, you knew that you were good, because you constantly made the conscious effort to be so; but it was more than that, so much more than just the fact that you had chosen to be good and had chosen to try and make up for the mistakes of your youth. Byers was so happy around you, Frohike saw it every single time he saw you together, he saw how happy you made Byers, it was impossible to ignore such a thing, impossible to ignore the fact that he had not seen Byers smile so much and so easily and be so content yet nervous and on edge but also calm and relaxed than he had been when he was around you; it was as if you had some sort of pheromone that you gave off that made Byers turn into some love stricken and lovesick puppy dog, some sort of toxic gas that only Byers was not immune to that rendered him so utterly happy around you. Frohike wasn’t stupid. He knew that you and Byers would sneak into one another’s rooms to cuddle and fall asleep together, he knew that you had snuck in through Byers’ window and had stayed up for part of the night to talk to him, he had heard the reciting of Shakespeare’s tragic tale of Romeo and Juliet, a tale of two star-crossed lovers that ended in misery and woe, he had heard you reciting Romeo’s parts, and talking Byers into reading Juliet’s. Frohike wasn’t stupid. He knew love when he saw it. He had been in and out of it enough himself to know exactly what the warning signals were and exactly what was happening, and although he had kept quiet about it for quite some time, he was not about to stay silent, he had stayed silent for far too long and he knew that it was either now or never, he either had to break his silence or forever hold his tongue. 

“You have to tell him, (Y/n),” Frohike insisted, approaching the house with you now as he felt the cold begin to bite at his hands and especially his fingers, rendering them shaking and slow to move, painful to clench into a fist as he buried his hands in his pockets. “You have to. You can’t keep putting yourself down. You need to tell Byers exactly how you feel about him.” 

“Or, hear me out with this,” you brought the cigarette packet out from your pocket and lit one up, your hands shaking slightly as you breathed out a puff of toxicity. “I could never fucking say a word, and you guys can forget about me and this town the second you leave - it’s best for everyone, that way.” 

“It’s not,” he shook his head, clicking his tongue and not daring to mention the fact that he was once a cigarette smoker himself and that, since being around you, his cravings for one had shot up. No, he had lasted this long without saying anything about that, and he could last a while longer. “We all like you, (y/n), and I’ve spoken to Langly and Jimmy, and they’ve both said that, once this is done, they’d love to come back every now and then to visit you. We’ve all agreed on that, Byers even said that we could…” 

“Could what?” You hissed, the edges of your scabs turning a slightly different colour and tugging a bit harsher with the cold, putting you in a place of hidden anguish and agony from them. You wouldn’t dare to say a word about the pain you were in, though, you didn’t need or want anyone to worry about you, you weren’t sure how you would handle more worry and more concern. 

“He’s said that we could try and move the office into town,” he admitted with a sigh. “Just so we could all be closer.” 

“Fuck that,” you scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re all lovely blokes, honestly, you’re all great guys, Frohike, but… ain’t no point being around me, for fuck’s sake. I’m… I’m a fuck-up, I’m a well and true fuck-up. You guys would be better off without me. You’d be better off getting the fuck out of Dodge and then never thinking about me again. All I’ve done is cause you lot trouble.” 

“That’s not true,” he protested. “Without you, we wouldn’t have half of the article we do, now. Without you, we would’ve had to stay in that motel and scraped by on food. We wouldn’t have managed to get this far this fast without you, (Y/n). And we appreciate the help, we appreciate the hospitality, but-” 

“I’m not telling him,” you protested back with a shake of your head, taking a long drag from your cigarette. “I’m not fucking telling him, Frohike.” 

“Byers was in a fight not too long ago, as well,” Frohike started, “we were working a case, and we… it doesn’t matter how, but Byers and Jimmy were in prison and-” 

“Byers wasn’t in trouble, was he?” You asked, a certain kind of true concern in your voice, a snapping of a growl of worry that festered in your own words as they left your mouth. 

“No, he wasn’t,” he admitted with a shake of his head. “He wasn’t in any kind of trouble, but… it was his choice to get into that fight, and he did, he got his lights kicked out…” 

“Why didn’t he tell me?” You growled, eyes wide and your jaw slightly slack. “I mean, every late night talk, why didn’t he-” 

“He doesn’t talk about it with anyone,” Frohike admitted. “He was pretty bad. He was in pretty bad shape after it, and when we got him out, he was prescribed some meds, and… he wouldn’t speak about what happened in that prison, he wouldn’t speak about the fight, not even to Jimmy even though he was right there… but there was one night, pretty early on, Byers was high off of his ass on those painkillers.” 

“I don’t like where this is going,” you admitted with a frown, starting to worry about what had happened, starting to become concerned about whether or not Byers trusted you enough to tell you about such a thing, such a thing that made you tremble with fear as you realised that you had not been around to protect him, you had not been around to put yourself in harm’s way for him. Fuck, you were a fucking idiot. You should have never of gone off-grid, you should have-

“He was high as a kite… and Langly and Jimmy were out getting food, so it was just me and Byers at the office, and he told me about you,” Frohike said gently, watching as you ashed your cigarette on the ground and took a drag, making him frown slightly. “He said you used to patch up his wounds all the time, and that he would do the same to you.” 

“Yeah, we did,” you said quietly, “his dad’s a fucking cunt, and people are fucking cunts… so, yeah, I had to patch him up a few times.” 

“More than a few times from what he told me,” he hummed. “From the sounds of it, you would patch him up quite often and he would patch you up twice as much.” 

“I was a fighter, what can I say?” You chuckled bitterly, shrugging as you sighed heavily. “Byers was always making sure I never got no infections and that I never got hurt worse than… doesn’t matter. Just know that… just know that Byers has seen me bloody and bruised a lot more than anyone else in this world, and he’s… he’s always been the one to look after me.” 

“Of course,” Frohike nodded, his voice going gentle as he swallowed thickly, feeling sorry for both you and Byers, clearly childhood had been rough for multiple reasons, and he was truly sorry about that. “But, you know, that night, he… he talked about you a lot, (y/n), he talked about you so much and it was the way he spoke that got me, because… well, you meant a lot to him. And I know he means a lot to you, too. You don't think of someone from your past when you're high off morphine unless they mean a lot to you. You don't talk about them like Shakespeare if they don't mean something to you… is that where you really want to leave things with him? Just… ignoring and repressing your own feelings until you’re high off morphine and venting to some old fool about it?”

“No…” you mumbled, shaking your head and sighing heavily. No, that was not where you desired to leave things in the slightest, but all the same, you could never deny that you were far from ready and far from confident about admitting your feelings for Byers; the coolness about it, the mask of suaveness and flirting, the mask of being calm and collected, it was all a lie, and you could not wait for the truth to break - but all the same, you were comfortable behind your mask, and you had been wearing it for so long that you did not know how you would react to taking it off, you did not know how you would feel without it. It was scary, and you were unsure, it was terrifying, and you were in doubt. On the one hand, if you did tell Byers how you felt, he could have told you that he felt the same, and the two of you could have had some bliss and some contentment, you could have had a decent relationship that would only ever be strained by the fact that he would not constantly be at your side and you would not constantly be at his; but on the other hand, if you did tell Byers your true feelings for him, he could have laughed at you and scorned you and scolded you and cursed you and vowed to never see you again and threatened to tell everyone where you were and exactly what you were doing. You didn’t know what you were supposed to do, as although you knew that you would never be good enough for him, and although you knew that you would never be so much as an inch towards deserving him and deserving his love, you were getting ready to be able to push those thoughts aside in favour of telling him what your heart had been saying for years and years and years - but the thought of him laughing at your heart, the thought of him scorning your soul, the thought of him scolding your love, the thought of him cursing you and everything that you had shared together was far more scary and far more heartbreaking and gut wrenching than you had ever wanted it to be or thought it to be. 

“Fuck, Frohike, what do I do?” You whined, practically begging him, pleading with him as you flashed those melancholic eyes and that woeful frown. A heart full of love was behind those ribs, and he knew it, but at the same time, he could see the pain and the agony that came with worry, and he could not answer. 

The Gunmen waited, they waited and they waited and they waited, they waited for what seemed like days for you and Byers to go to bed, for you to both finally leave them at peace as they huddled up in the living room; Frohike and Jimmy were on the sofa, Jimmy sat a little bit too close but Frohike didn’t have the heart to tell him to move, Langly was spread out on the chair, which seemed to grow more and more like theirs with each day that dared to pass. They were trying to think of a plan, a plan that would work that would get you and Byers to confront your feelings at last and to, hopefully, providing everything worked out, would end up with you both becoming an item, would end up with you dating. But it had to be foolproof, it had to be utterly secure and air-tight, there could be no mistakes in the slightest, it had to be perfect; because they knew, they knew that you and Byers would see through them like a sheet of ice, they knew that even the slightest of air bubbles would make you and Byers realise what they were up to and what their little scheme was; so they plotted, they plotted and they plotted and they plotted and they plotted throughout the night, but no plan seemed quite up to standard, no plan seemed perfectly right and as if it would finally get you and Byers together. They really needed to call in the big guns, they knew that all too well and without a doubt in the world, they knew that they needed to call in the one person who could plan and plot and scheme better than they could ever hope to do: Yves. They did think about sending a text, but that wouldn’t have gotten there in time and would have meant that they would then have to wait for a reply back, which could have taken hours if their signal was even the slightest bit fuzzy; there was no way they could meet up with her considering the fact that she was off on the other side of the country doing… they didn’t really want to know. But she certainly wasn’t around to come over and sit down with them, that much was for sure, without a single doubt. They had no clue what time it was where Yves was, either, and for all they knew she could have been sound asleep with her phone off. But nevertheless, when Jimmy brought his phone out and hit the call button on Yves’ contact, the Gunmen held their collective breath, hoping that she would help, wishing that she would. 

“Jimmy, if you’re going to ask me if London is a country again-” 

“Wait, Yves,” Frohike took control, clearing his throat and sighing a little as he looked between Langly and Jimmy with a frown and furrowed brows. “We need your help.” 

“Oh, really?” Even through the phone they knew without a doubt that she was smiling at the remark, they knew that she would help even though she would almost definitely try to act like she wasn’t. 

“Yes,” Langly hissed. “It’s about Byers.” 

“Oh? I suppose it doesn’t have anything to do with his boyfriend, now, does it?” Yves asked with a curious hum; sure, when she had seen the picture at first, she had thought it was quite… quite charming, actually, and although she would not admit it, she was kind of glad that Byers had found someone to be so comfortable with, someone to love and to hold and to cherish. He deserved it, he thought, but if she was ever questioned about it, she would deny it and shake her head. She would never admit that she really did care about the Gunmen. She did want them all to be happy.

“He’s not his boyfriend,” Jimmy said, a little bit of sadness and melancholy to his voice; he thought you and Byers made a great couple, he really did, and he was always quite melancholic when he was painfully reminded that you and Byers weren’t actually together. He wanted to see you both happy, and from what he could see of it, from what he saw every single time you were together, nothing made you or Byers happier than being around one another. 

“Not yet, at least,” Langly added, sighing as they shook their head; they couldn’t understand why you and Byers couldn’t just admit it and get it over with, sure, they knew that such things could be really stressful and worrying, but they could see it just as well as anyone that you and Byers were a match made in heaven and that, although you had your differences, you were happy together, and they could never quite understand why you had not just admitted it already and gotten together. 

“Which is why we need your help, Yves,” Frohike grumbled, rubbing his forehead and letting out a harsh sigh; he really wanted things between you and Byers to work out, and he knew why you had not gotten together yet, and he could understand it, too, but he was at his own wit’s end and was tired of being around the pining and the almost-kisses and the having to take Byers out of your bed or you out of Byers’ bed when you decided to sneak off for a quick catnap, he was tired of having to put up with two puppy dogs that were so lovesick that they couldn’t do anything but bark for one another; for yours and Byers’ sake you needed to get together, but also for Frohike’s, as he was sure that he had aged about a century just from having to put up with you both whining and pining all the time. “We need to get them together.” 

But unbeknownst to either of the three conspirators, Yves had been tracing the phone call, and had pinpointed their exact location and had found the quickest route to get there, and while she was tossing things into the boot of her car that she thought she may need, she had figured out exactly what time she would get there, and while she had no problem about making up a reason as to why she was there when Byers would inevitably ask upon seeing her, she knew that the Gunmen were… well, they were pretty useless, and she needed to ensure that all would go according to the plan that she had already started to concoct in her head. Sighing, Yves brought the phone to her once more, and clicked her tongue. “I’ll be there in two hours, gentlemen, but when Byers asked what I’m doing here, you are to say nothing about this phone call, is that understood?”

“Yes,” the trio agreed. 

“Good, now, my reasoning for being around is that, when I get there, I need you three to act as if you weren’t expecting me,” she explained, “we’re going to make Byers think that I was just driving around and saw your little Mystery Machine and decided to swing by for a chat - am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Frohike said, nodding as he dared to look at his friends, his siblings, his colleagues. They were all clearly thinking the same thing: hopefully, Yves would save the day and get you and Byers to confront your feelings, and hopefully, if Yves’ plan was as good as her usual plans were, it would end in happiness and not misery. 

Yves arrived at your house at exactly six twenty-three in the morning, one hour and fifty-five minutes after her original phone call with Jimmy and Langly and Frohike, but as she pulled up to the house, she saw you and Byers stood outside, and she smiled, raising her hand and waving. 

“Yves?” Byers called, and as she approached, there was no mistaking that he had his arm around you tightly, and that his blue eyes were slightly widened from fear and worry. 

“Byers,” she greeted with a curt nod before turning to you with a genuine smile, which wasn’t exactly something that the Gunmen had had the luxury of seeing a lot when it came to Yves, but she extended her hand to you, waiting for you to shake it as she licked her lips and cleared her throat. “Yves Adele Harlow, you must be, (y/n) I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“Cheers?” You looked at her curiously, but your gaze soon drifted to Byers as you looked at him from the corner of your eyes. 

“Yves is a friend… kind of,” Byers shrugged, offering you a reassuring smile. “How did you know we were all here?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” she shrugged, shaking her head. “No, I was just driving around looking for my next job when I spotted your little Mystery Machine parked up. I figured I’d come and stop by - see if I can’t meet that mysterious figure you were so eagerly cuddling into.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, hanging your head and letting out a harsh and long breath, clenching your jaw. 

“Don’t worry, I haven’t shared it with anyone, or even spoken about it,” Yves promised. “After all, I only know you through what Byers here has told me, and trust me when I say, you are not on my list of people to try and blackmail.” 

She was actually speaking the golden truth when she had said that, she had looked into you previously here and there, she actually thought you had done quite a good job, and with your being off-grid and underground, you weren’t exactly competition - not that you ever were, but she admired your methods and even thought about picking your brain here and there; she thought it was quite impressive how one man could get away with so much money, donate it to his community, and then keep the rest and not get caught. But although it would not be something she would never in a million years freely admit and would probably take to the grave, the important part was because she knew, through talking to Jimmy and Frohike and Langly, how Byers felt about you, and how you felt about him; she had heard Byers talk about you before, a few times here and there, and in all honesty, she would have been ready to protect you and to keep you safe simply because of how much Byers loved you, she would have risked her life for you because it would have meant that one of her four favourite fools had a chance at being happy - but that was a secret that she would keep to herself, and one that she would more than likely and would hopefully take to the grave, while she was at it. 

“Thanks, I think?” You frowned, shaking your head as you pulled out a packet of cigarettes, you offered one to her, but she declined, so you shrugged and lit your own up, your free arm going around Byers’ waist as you took a long drag. “But, uh, it’s nice to meet you - the guys have mentioned you a bit here and there, you seem alright…” you let out all the smoke in a harsh puff of smoke that thankfully blew back in your own face. “You hungry at all? Thirsty?” 

“I could stop for something to eat,” Yves agreed, thankful for the excuse to get inside your house and to see the three idiots she had agreed to help; she followed you and Byers inside, noticing how you stayed so close yet Byers was so gentle with you, especially your arms, she noticed how he would reach for things on the shelves in the kitchen and hand them to you, and how he would do anything that required even the smallest bit of stretching, and she did wonder why but could not bring herself to ask, as she did not want to be rude. But while you and Byers busied yourselves in the kitchen with making breakfast for everybody, she sat in the living room with Frohike and Langly and Jimmy, thankful that the frying pan’s hiss and the sizzling of food and the sound of rock and roll on a speaker in the kitchen would mean that they could talk in private. She crossed one leg over the other as she leaned slightly forward. “Have you three thought about a plan?”

“We figured we could get them alone, somehow,” Jimmy shrugged. 

“Yeah, somewhere private,” Langly nodded. 

“Somewhere romantic, too,” Frohike added with a scratch to the back of his neck. “But that’s about all we have so far.” 

Sighing, Yves ran a hand through her hair and thought for a moment; somewhere alone and private, that could have been the house, it was out of the way and was extremely private, but that wouldn’t work, you could easily avoid confronting your feelings if you were at home. Too many distractions. Too many excuses to walk around the subject. Somewhere romantic, though, that could work - the museum could have been a place to set things up, but that was far from private, and it would not be so easy to monitor things in the background, either. The metal club she had seen along the way could have also been the place to have set things up, but that was too loud, and too crowded, there wasn’t much intimacy there, and it would have been far too easy to get swept up in the noise and to fail to make sure that things went smoothly. But as she thought, she noticed that ‘Lady and The Tramp’ was playing on the television, and it gave her a bit of a sly idea. 

“Do you three happen to know of any restaurants in town?” She asked, looking at the three Gunmen with a raised brow. 

“Uh, there’s this place called Dorsia,” Langly shrugged. 

“Is that the one around the corner from the synagogue?” Frohike asked. “I’m pretty sure I’ve passed it - it’s nice there.” 

“Real romantic, fancy place,” Langly nodded. “Probably way out of our price range, though…” 

“Don’t worry about expenses, gentlemen,” Yves shook her head, she didn’t mind, she had enough money, she could easily pay for it all and still not have to worry about anything. “I can handle that… but, Dorsia, what’s it like inside?”

“Real, real fancy,” Jimmy answered, “they have, like, one of those big lights on the ceiling - a champagne light?”

“A chandelier,” Frohike corrected. “And yeah, it’s real fancy. I heard that Gordon Ramsay sometimes cooks there.” 

“And Nadiya Hussain,” Langly told him. “The food there is meant to be amazing.” 

“Dorsia it is, then,” Yves nodded, biting at the inside of her lip for a moment. “Now we have to figure out how to get (y/n) and Byers there without them knowing that it’s a set up.” 

“If Jimmy can get (y/n) alone for a few minutes, I can tell Byers that someone wants to meet him there to talk about the article,” Frohike suggested. 

“No, that wouldn’t work, too suspicious,” Yves shot down the idea with a shake of her head. “Langly, you tell Byers to go to Dorsia at eight o’clock sharp tonight - I’ll handle (y/n).” 

“But you’ve only just met him,” Jimmy pointed out. “How do you know he’ll go with you?”

“Oh, quite easily,” she hummed, nodding a little to herself as she thought about what to do; you were not exactly an easy person to trick, but she figured if she somehow got you to think that you were meeting someone there, perhaps a contact of hers that could give you an entirely new identity and allow you to leave freely, or even an old friend that she happened to know that wanted to get back in touch with you - the latter seemed like a more realistic and plausible reason as to why you would want to go into such a fine establishment as Dorsia. Yes, she would tell you that she had met one of your old friends and that they had wanted to speak with you about how things had been left, that would get you there, and if she got you there for eight o’clock, as well, then things would set into place. “Don’t worry, I have a plan.” 

She felt a little bit giddy, if she was honest, although she did try to hold it down as much as she could, allowing it only to slip out in the form of a smile as she looked between the three Gunmen before her; she didn’t want to admit it, and nor would she ever admit it, but Yves was quite eager to help out, she was quite eager to try and push you and Byers together. Sure, she would always say that she loathed the Gunmen and that she would sell them all out for little more than a few hundred thousand pounds within a second, but deep down, deep down right where she could keep it to herself, Yves was quite fond of them and she was quite happy to help one of them to try and find love and happiness. Yes, even Yves Adele Harlow was quite happy to try and put in some effort to help Byers find some joy in life, and if that meant that she had to fork out a few hundred pounds for a fancy date that was really just a set up and an attempt to get you and Byers to be together, she was quite happy to do it and to try. 

But the call to breakfast was soon sounded out, and Yves gathered with you and the rest of the Gunmen at the kitchen table, noticing how you were sharing half of Byers’ chair so that she had somewhere to sit; it made her bite back a smile as she stole a glance at Jimmy, but she soon pushed those thoughts away and tried to focus more on the plan and the task at hand, the things that she needed to ensure first and foremost before anything could be done. A reservation was in need of being booked, and if Yves knew fancy restaurants, she would need to pay a little extra in order to get a reservation for that night under such short notice, if she knew fancy restaurants, they were usually booked full for months in advance until they would even consider taking another reservation, but Yves also knew that a few pennies in the pocket of the maitre’d would mean that the restaurant wasn’t so fully booked, and that a space or two could be made available depending on how many pennies she placed in the pocket. She didn’t mind, though, not if she was already going with pre-paying for everything and anything as it was. But she did notice the little things between you and Byers that made it hard to keep the smile from her face; the way he looked at you with grave and great concern when you winced or seethed, the way he smiled when you looked at him, the way you would press yourself against him just to be a little bit closer - to Yves, she could see it plainly, and she did her best not to make a comment about it being a little like Lady and The Tramp. Byers, a good and polite man raised to be well-mannered and to do what was right, dressed in a black suit with his hair neatly combed and his beard finely and neatly trimmed; and you, you who were a little bit like Robin Hood and swore like a sailor but wanted to do the right thing, dressed in black trousers with a black t-shirt that was ripped here and there and ratty old red Vans that had clearly seen much better days, your hair a mess and scruffy. It was clear to Yves that Byers was very much the Lady to your Tramp, and that thought alone made her push down a chuckle as she tried to eat her breakfast as if all was normal and well. 

But Yves spent the day with you and the Gunmen, which was not something that she had planned, but she quite enjoyed it, she enjoyed the easiness and the slow pace of the day, the laziness that came with not having to worry where to go next, the coffee you made was good, too, she had to admit that and she wasn’t shy about actually telling you, either; yes, Yves could see why Byers had fallen for you, she could see why you, the Artful Dodger in your own right, had such a charm and she enjoyed your company when she caught you alone during your cigarette breaks and when you were making coffee and fixing food; but then night fell, and the plan set into action. 

Getting Byers to go had not proved a problem in the slightest, quite the opposite, actually, which came as a bit of a surprise to almost everyone; and to her great surprise, it did not take Yves a lot of time to convince you, either. But as she got Langly into disguise in the water closet, she relied on Frohike and Jimmy, who were spying through the bay windows at Dorsia and watching you and Byers. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You asked when he approached your table, looking at him up and down, curious and definitely shocked. 

“I, uh, I got told to meet someone here,” he explained with a frown, “maybe we’re meeting the same person?”

“Yeah, maybe,” you shrugged, gesturing to the seat opposite you and watching with a small smile as he shrugged his blazer off, draping it across the back of the chair before he sat down and cleared his throat, looking at you. “Pick your poison, apparently it’s all paid for already.” 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll just have a Heineken,” Byers told you, although you could tell that he was definitely uneasy from the way he kept shifting in his seat and clearing his throat. 

“Sweet, I’m having a glass of Kraken,” you chuckled, running a hand through your hair before daring to call over the waiter, but as you were ordering drinks, it clicked. You weren’t going to be meeting anyone that night, and neither was he. Something about the waiter had seemed familiar, but you shook it from your head, thinking that you were just worrying too much and were starting to overthink. “Y’know, John, I think we’ve been set up.” 

“Oh, good lord,” he sighed, hanging his head and sighing heavily. “You don’t suppose that Yves helped the guys plan this, do you?”

You leaned back in your seat, your smile growing as you chuckled and shrugged. “I dunno… probably. Would you put it past ‘em?” 

“Not really,” Byers admitted, shaking his head. How could he be so stupid? So foolish? 

“Y’know, if it’s all expenses paid… might as well make the most of it,” you mused, shrugging. “I mean, c’mon, free drinks? Free food?”

“I suppose you’re right,” he shrugged, tilting his head from side to side for a second until he dared to lick his lips and to look at you, properly. 

You had cleaned up a little, black formal trousers, black dress shirt with the collar down but the top few buttons undone so that he could take a peek at your chest, the trainers you had on were pale grey and cream, clean and fresh as if they had never been worn; he had to admit, you looked very handsome, and he felt a little guilty for not looking so well dressed, too. Sure, he was wearing one of his better suits, the brownish-grey one with a white shirt and the plain red tie that you had bought for him, and sure he definitely fit in with the crowd at the restaurant, but there was no way that he looked even half as good as you did. He could never hope to even get close, but he didn’t mind so much, even if he did feel guilty that he couldn’t do better for you. But while drinking, you and Byers started to talk, at length, mostly about how great it had been to be around one another again and how you would plan on staying in contact when he and his friends, his colleagues, his companions, his siblings, had to leave you, when he had to inevitably abandon you once more and leave you all alone; you were both hopeful, despite the melancholy and the woe and the sadness of knowing that he would not be around forever, and that you could not waste forever and a day at his side; the conversation soon turned, though, when you brought up the very reason he had come back into town in the first place: the article for The Lone Gunman newspaper. 

“Surely you’ve got it down and done, right?” You asked curiously, licking your lips to savour the rum on them when you took a swig from your drink. 

Byers nodded, daring to crack a smile as he cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, actually. We’re pretty much all done, just a few edits to do here and there, and then it should be… should be finished. But I haven’t mentioned you by name at all, I made sure that every instance of your name was changed for anonymity.” 

“That’s real sweet of you,” you said softly, reaching across the table and gently taking his hand on your own, daring to smile so fondly at him, so sweetly that honey seemed bitter and sugar was savoury. “Thank you, John, I mean-” 

Shaking his head, Byers cut you off with a soft, nervous chuckle as he used his free hand to rub the back of his neck. “I, uh, I was wondering if… if I could take a picture of us - it’s not for the newspaper, I promise, it’s just… it’s just so that I can… good grief, it sounds so stupid, but it’s just so that I can keep you with me wherever I go.” 

“Sure,” you agreed with a shrug. “But, I have a condition.” 

“Anything,” he agreed with not even an ounce of hesitation or reluctance. 

“I get to keep a copy, too,” you said sweetly. “For the same reason… but I do have to ask you something, John.” 

“What is it?” He prompted softly, sweetly, his voice tender and low as if he was to keep a secret that was so cherished that not even the angels would be allowed to hear it. “You… you know you can tell me anything, (y/n).” 

“The kisses,” you sighed, looking at the white tablecloth and biting at your lip. “Each kiss, each hug, every… everything we’ve done since you’ve been around… fuck me, I love you, John, more than I should, more than I deserve, but-” 

“I love you, too,” Byers replied quietly, giving your hand a little squeeze, blushing furiously as he did his best to smile, although it was crooked from his anxiety. “And I don’t… I’m not worried about deserving, or whether or not you’re good enough… I love you, (Y/n), that… that doesn’t change… and it, it never will.” 

“You don’t have to make your mind up about anything,” you told him gently, shaking your head and swallowing thickly. “You don’t have to make up your mind about… about what this is, or what it isn’t or anything like that, not if you’re not ready, not if you don’t want to, John, not-” 

“I want to be with you, (y/n),” Byers said stoically, proudly, as he dared to reach for your other hand, grasping it tightly as the candlelight flickered in his blue eyes. “I want to be with you, I always have and… well, I’m pretty sure I always will, if I’m honest. If you want me as much as I want you then… and if you want to be mine as much as I want to be yours, then… well, why don’t we give it a try?”

“You’d be willing to do that?” You asked quietly, able to feel the tears that tickled the corners of your eyes. 

“Of course,” he nodded, giving both of your hands a little squeeze this time. “I would be willing to try anything, for you.” 

“Fuck me, I love you, so much,” you sniffled, hanging your head to try and prevent the rain from falling, to try and stop yourself from crying, but then Byers let go of your hands, and moved around so that he was knelt at your side. He gently took your face in his hands, turning you to look at him as he smiled and dared to wipe the tears away with the pads of his thumbs. Byers was always so gentle with you, but no more so than he was in that moment, gently wiping away your tears as he knelt at your side, unable to keep the soft and tender smile from his face as you laughed at yourself for being such an idiot, such a fool. He didn’t mind. And when you stopped weeping with joy, he was more than happy to press a sweet kiss to your forehead and to hum against your skin for a second before leaning down a little more so that he could rub his nose against yours. 

“Please don’t cry,” he begged softly, shaking his head, letting you keep a hold of his hand tightly as he sat back in his seat and looking at you so tenderly. “So, is… is this it? I mean, are we, y’know, are we-” 

“I guess,” you shrugged, chuckling and nodding, biting at the inside of your lip as you tried to fight the grin that threatened to spread across your lips. “Unless if you-” 

“For as long as I am yours, you are mine,” Byers told you sweetly as he shook his head and smiled, the blush on his features so much more evident now. 

“Well, finally!” The waiter exclaimed as they came to collect your drinks, and it was then that you and Byers realised why they had looked so familiar. Langly. “It took you both long enough! I thought I was gonna be skeleton by the time you two got together!”

“Ah, shit,” you laughed, looking at Byers across the table and unable to do anything except laugh. 

But Byers wasn’t that happy as he grumbled and shook his head. “Oh, Langly, good lord! What-” 

“It was all Yves’ plan!” They protested, holding up their hands and looking down at you both. “She was the one that came up with it!” 

“Told you,” you said smugly. 

“So you did,” Byers mused, nodding before he dared to look back at Langly, frowning. “Did the four of you really set this up just so that me and (y/n) would wind up together?”

“Yeah,” they shrugged, such a simple gesture making you laugh, which in turn caused you to choke on your remains of your drink for a few seconds, which did make Byers worry, but when it died down, and you started to laugh and to grin, there was only one thought going through his mind: how handsome you were. 

But even still, he was violently pulled from his thoughts when Yves and Jimmy and Frohike joined in, barging in through the restaurant in order to get to the table you and Byers were sat at; they teased and they joked and they poked fun, but all the same, they were all very much happy that you and Byers had finally gotten together. They were all very much pleased to know that Byers finally had a little bit of the happiness he deserved so much, and they were all very much pleased to know that you finally had a little bit of the contentment and joy in your life that they all knew that you deserved even though you would protest against it. More drinks were ordered, chairs stolen from empty tables and yanked over to that one, crowded around. Food was ordered, too. And although she knew that it was coming out of her own bank, Yves didn’t protest; it was nice to see her four favourite fools so happy. It felt nice to finally celebrate something. Byers eventually moved his chair around to sit beside you, though, keeping one hand between your thigh and the palm of your hand, it made him a little bit giddy to know that he finally no longer had to hide away from the fact that he loved you, and he knew that you felt the exact same; sure, such a thing would not normally be celebrated, everybody dates somebody at some point, but this was different - this was a love that would never grow old, this was ancient history that was still being written, this was… this was, without a doubt, a definite cause for celebration in the Gunmen’s books. So, up until Dorsia closed its doors for the night at exactly one-oh-three in the morning, the Gunmen and Yves and you all spent the night in glee and joy and giddiness and high spirits. And it felt wonderful. 

Langly and Jimmy and Frohike were all putting the final touches to the article and finishing off with editing it, which Langly wasn’t very good at thanks to their dyslexia, but they did try, and Jimmy wasn’t very good at it, either, because… because he was Jimmy - but after the previous night, Frohike could not find it within himself to bother to complain or to even roll his eyes at them. They were all still in that celebratory mood, all still giddy and drunk with glee. Yves had stuck around, too, offering to help you here and there with whatever needed doing, offering to help the Gunmen with their article and with the editing process of it, although she did try and make it seem like she would get some kind of payment, some form of thanks, even though she knew that she wouldn’t, and she didn’t care. Byers had been given the day off, told to spend it with you however you both saw fit, and apparently that meant spending the day in bed together; clothes dumped by the door in a pile, snuggled up against him and against his chest as you sighed and grumbled, not wanting to believe that he had to actually leave you at some point; you didn’t want that, you didn’t want to be away from him, and although you supposed you could fuel up your father’s old bike every now and then to go and see him at his own home, you also had a feeling that that wouldn’t be enough, you had a feeling that long distance wasn’t your style, and you did have an idea of how to fix that without forcing Byers and Langly and Frohike and Jimmy to completely relocate… you just wanted it to be a surprise when you brought your idea up to your now-boyfriend. 

“As long as you do the same, I promise I’ll always visit,” Byers said softly, tiredly, biting back a yawn as he traced the still-healing scabs on your arms gently, his fingertips deft as he ghosted around them and mapped out where they were. “I promise, it doesn’t matter if the van’s out of fuel, or if we get a flat tire, I’ll… I’ll come and visit when I can.” 

“I was thinking about that, actually,” you admitted with a soft hum to your voice, your fingertips gently as you ran them along his chest and down his stomach, making him shiver and groan beneath your touch. “I have my dad’s old bike - the Ducati, and it… y’know, it works just as well as it did back then… and I don’t have much to stay here for - Karl and Megan and Lucy and Billy and everyone else… what if I went back with you?”

A little shocked, a little caught off guard, Byers began to stutter, not sure if he had heard you right at all. “What do you mean?”

“What if I packed my shit up, loaded it onto my dad’s bike… and lived with you and the Gunmen?” You asked, looking up at him and swallowing thickly, your heart racing in your chest as you thought about how he was going to reject your offer, but even worse, how he would scorn you and curse you and break off all contact with you. 

But to your surprise, Byers grinned, eyes wide as he nodded and let out a soft laugh. “I… I’d have to check with the guys, but…” he paused to pull you over and up enough to kiss your forehead. “But, good lord, that would be amazing.” 

“Would it be fucking amazing?” You asked, chuckling when he rolled your eyes at your foul language. “Oh, come on, I called your dad and JFK a fucking cunt, you can’t really-” 

Silencing you with a kiss, Byers couldn’t help but to smile against your lips when you placed your hands on his chest and pressed him back into the pillows, letting him wrap his arms around you as you melted against him; it seemed as if that kiss had been rehearsed a thousand and one times, open mouthed and a little slow, Byers was still far from confident when it came to such things, but he was eager to learn, you could tell that much. He was very eager to learn, but when you pulled away, he simply gazed at you. He gazed at you the way people in art galleries gazed at the starry nights that Van Gogh painted, he gazed at you the way Juliet gazed at Romeo, Hamlet and Ophelia. He gazed at you with such a fondness, such a loving softness and tenderness, that you couldn’t speak. The only thing you had hope of saving you and from preventing you from getting lost in his gaze was to lean down to kiss him again. Fuck, you would never get tired of kissing him, of feeling the way he grasped onto you each time you kissed him, as if he never wanted to let go and was silently vowing that he never would, vowing that he would never lose you again, vowing that he would never go more than a week without seeing you again. He couldn’t. Byers couldn’t afford to let you go again, he couldn’t afford to lose you again. He couldn’t. He loved you far, far too much, and while he was still shy about saying it, he certainly showed it in the way he made your coffee the exact way you liked it, he showed it by letting you cuddle into him whenever you wanted to, he showed it by all the sweet forehead and neck and shoulder and hand kisses that he planted on your skin. Sure, Byers was still a little unconfident about saying it, but he certainly showed how much he loved you, how truly he loved you, how deeply he loved you, how bountifully he loved you, and how that love was like the Mississippi River and would never dry up, would never disappear.

It took quite a while for you and Byers to eventually get out of bed, so wound up and so immersed in that fresh new love, although it wasn’t new, not by a long shot, it was just a love that would never grow old, but that didn’t stop it from feeling new and from feeling so achingly strong that it took the better part of the morning for you both to get out of bed, only daring to do so when Langly threatened to open the door; getting dressed was a hassle, untangling the pile of clothes that was chucked on the floor, making Byers a little bit smug as he told you that you should have listened when he had said to fold them up and put them on the vanity, but that only made you shut him up with a sweet kiss, a sweet and swift kiss that made him grumble and go all soft as he glared at you. But nevertheless, you both were eventually dressed, and as you trudged down the stairs, the comments that were thrown your way only made you grin and laugh as you looked at a very bashful and flustered Byers. 

“I told you, the only long pipe you’ll find (y/n)-” 

“Guys,” Byers grumbled, pouting a little, begging his friends, his colleagues, his companions, his siblings to please stop with the jokes, as even though you didn’t mind them and joined in, they were just… so inappropriate. “Stop please?”

“It’s a bit of fun, baby,” you hummed, kissing his neck and biting it a little, making him swallow thickly and freeze up. “Let loose.” 

“Is that what you’re calling it these days?” Frohike teasingly asked. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You laughed, although your gaze did not leave Byers as he smiled at you, keeping an arm around your shoulders tightly to keep you close, to keep you safe, he supposed. To keep himself from overthinking and wrecking himself with daydreams that it was all fake, it was all fake and false and none of it had really happened. 

“We, uh, well, (Y/n)-”

“I gotta question,” you shrugged, licking your lips and sucking in a harsh breath. “Would you guys be alright if I packed up my shit, like, all my shit… and came back with you guys? As in, would it be alright for me to move in with you guys? Y’know, I could, uh, I could put some of my money with Jimmy’s, make sure the newspaper stays afloat. Make sure you guys always have a roof over your heads.”

“Fuck yeah!” Langly immediately agreed with a smile, nodding enthusiastically as they looked at you and Byers. 

“We’d be happy to take you aboard, sure,” Frohike confirmed with a chuckle and a friendly smile shot your way. 

“Yeah! And plus! It means you and Byers would be together more!” Jimmy beamed, making an ‘oh’ sound when Yves pulled him in close and whispered something in his ear. “I mean, yeah! Sure!”

“So it’s settled,” Byers said, quite proudly as he turned to you and offered his hand. “(y/n), you are now a member of-” 

“Shut up and kiss me, you narc,” you chuckled, laying your hands at the back of his neck and pulling him down, pulling him into a soft kiss that made the others let out a string of teasing howls and noises that made you laugh against Byers’ lips as you continued to kiss him, as you continued to let him consume you and to burn you with nothing more than a gentle kiss. God, you could have stayed like that for the rest of your life, if you were honest, you could have stayed like that forever and always, but eventually, you knew you had to pull away, and you looked at him smugly, giving him a flash of that smile. “How’s that?”

“That is…” Byers swallowed thickly, blushing furiously at the fact that you had so brazenly kissed him in front of most of his friends, a little bit frozen up as he tried to gather himself and to find his composure. “Sufficient.” 

“You’re a square,” you said fondly, shaking your head and patting his cheek softly before once more turning to his friends and grinning. “So, I’ll get my shit packed, load it up on my bike and-” 

“Oh, no,” Frohike shook his head, shooting a grin your way as he scratched his cheek. “You’re riding in the van with us.” 

“But, my bike,” you frowned, tilting your head to the side. “That’s like the only thing I can’t leave behind.” 

“We’ll tow it,” Langly shrugged, smiling at you with reassurance as they dared to look at the others. “Right?”

“Sure,” Jimmy agreed. 

“I can help you boys with that,” Yves offered. “Actually, I could probably tow your bike, (y/n), my car can take the weight.” 

“Really?” You asked, unsure, not wanting to inconvenience any of them. 

“Of course,” she answered with a smile, “me and Jimmy can get it done for you while you pack, don’t worry.” 

“Your bags should fit in the van, though,” Byers said softly. 

“And you can call shotgun,” Frohike told you. 

You smiled, nodding and agreeing; you couldn’t believe what was happening, so overcome with that feeling of warmth, of home, of everything that you had yearned for all of your life, and now you had it and you wanted to do your best to hold onto it for dear life. You grabbed Byers’ hand, holding it tightly as you let out a shaky breath, excitement and nerves working together in your system as you dared to grin. “Alright, then it’s a plan.”

You were more than happy to allow Byers and Langly and Frohike to help you to pack up your things, more than happy to help them to load your bags into the back of their Mystery Machine, and to your genuine surprise, everything did fit - all of your things and theirs, all of their bags and equipment fit in just fine with your bags, and there was indeed space for Langly and Frohike and Jimmy in the back, too; after double checking, though, Yves confirmed that her car could, in fact, tow your father’s old Ducati back with her if she followed the Gunmen back to their hideout. But before anyone was to go anywhere, you all needed to eat, first, and once that was done… well, there was a rerun of ‘Oliver and Company’ on the television, which Yves and Langly and Frohike and Jimmy sat down to watch together, daring to tease you a little with comments about how you were the dog voiced by Billy Joel, making you roll your eyes and laugh along with them for a moment; but you dared to escape with Byers around halfway through the film, finding yourselves in the kitchen as you held onto him so tightly. Your arms slung around his shoulders and his around yours, your nose against his cheek as you held him so tightly, keeping him so close that you could almost feel the way his heart thumped and pounded in his chest as he gripped onto you just as closely and just as tightly. He was already thinking of all the things he could do with you back home; he could let you meet Mulder, which would go disastrously and chaotically but in the best of ways; he could introduce you to Scully, which would go amazingly and calmly, and he did have a feeling that she would like you immediately; he could introduce you to Doggett, which was probably not the best of ideas but it would probably be funny; and he could let you meet Reyes, which would go down quite nicely, like whisky and cigarettes went together. Byers could introduce you to all of his friends that you had not yet met, and he was excited about it, in all honesty; but then he thought about taking you to the ice rink, the local one where he sometimes taught his friends how to skate and coached them from time to time, and he thought about how he could take you there during the evening when it was quiet and calm and there would be nobody on the ice, and he could teach you how to skate all night if you wanted to… and he swallowed thickly as he felt his heart skip a beat before starting to run at thirty thousand miles per hour once more. Fuck, he was so happy. Fuck, he was so happy that he could take you home with him and could tell all of his friends about how amazing you were and let you meet them; he knew his friends could keep a secret, and it was something that you had given him your consent to do - you would let Byers tell his friends all about you and you would be quite happy to meet them all, so long as they all had agreed to keep your identity a secret from others. And they did. Mulder promised, Doggett promised, Scully promised, Reyes promised. Skinner didn’t answer his text, so Byers wasn’t exactly sure where he landed, but he knew that Skinner could be trusted regardless. 

“Y’know, John, I’m glad, I am so fucking glad you came back,” you murmured against him, closing your eyes tightly and letting out a little bit of s sniffle. “I… fuck me, I missed you so much for all these years, and now I’m stood here fucking moving in with you and I just… fuck me, fucking fuck me, I have not been so happy for so long…” 

“I know,” Byers murmured, nodding and giving your frame a little squeeze to let you know that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he wasn’t going to let go until you wanted him to. “I know… good lord, I missed you, and now I… now I don’t ever have to lose you again…” 

“So long as you don’t abandon me,” you whispered, swallowing thickly and clinging onto him slightly tighter, now. 

“Never,” Byers told you. “I’m never… not again. I’m not leaving you, and good grief, I’m not letting you go, not unless if you want me to.” 

“S’pose we best go and get the guys in a bit,” you muttered, humming from the back of your throat as you swallowed thickly and dared to slowly, reluctantly, pull away from him. “Wouldn’t wanna get home late, would we?”

“That depends on if you’re going to sneak through my window again,” he chuckled softly, kissing your forehead and humming gently against the skin. 

“Maybe another time,” you chuckled, taking him by the land and walking into the living room; the film was just about finishing, the credits beginning to roll, so you cleared your throat and caught the attention of the half-asleep Gunmen. “You guys about ready to take off?”

“Yeah, ready when you are,” Frohike stretched as he rose out of his seat, clicking his neck. 

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Langly shrugged, a bit sluggish as they dared to get out of their chair and yawn loudly. 

“Yves?” Jimmy hummed, nudging her slightly and causing her to jolt upright. “Yves, we’re all gonna go, are you ready?”

“Hmm? Oh, right, of course,” she cleared her throat, standing upright and shaking her leg a little to try and get rid of the pins and needles. “Are we all ready, then?”

Byers unlocked the van, letting Langly and Frohike and Jimmy get into the back before he walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for you, grinning when you kissed his cheek as you climbed into the seat and immediately grabbed the seatbelt, knowing all too well that if you neglected to put it on, you would get a safety lecture from your boyfriend. But then Byers himself got into the van, starting the ignition and starting to drive away for the last time, his hand on your thigh as you held onto his fingers loosely, not bothering to fully hold his hand as you smiled over at him each time he stole a look at you; every now and then, he would check that Yves was following behind, and she always was. But for the most part, he kept his eyes on the road like a very well disciplined driver, and held the top of the steering wheel with one hand; you and Langly and Jimmy voted on the music, letting old Slipknot songs play as you sang along loudly. 

Byers hated that music, so much. 

But it made you so happy, and he loved to hear you and his friends, his colleagues, his companions, his siblings, howling along to it as if your very lives were dependant on getting the lyrics right, so he let it slide. 

He let it slide as he drove down the lonely and isolated roads, and he let it slide when you got stuck in traffic on the motorway, too, which thankful gave Byers some time to steal a quick kiss here and there; being stuck in traffic was never any fun, but somehow, the sound of you and Langly and Jimmy singing along to Slipknot songs with such passion, such love for the music, somehow made it worth it - even if Byers did have to stop at a service station to get snacks and because Jimmy and Langly needed the toilet. But while the Gunmen were inside the building, you stayed outside to have a cigarette, and you smiled when Yves walked over. 

“Hey, if my dad’s bike is-” 

“It’s fine,” Yves told you immediately, shaking her head as she stood beside you and leaned against the side of the van with her arms folded. “You know, I could hear you and two of the stooges singing along.” 

“You could?” You asked with a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck with your free hand. 

“I’m surprised Byers let you play such music,” she admitted with a soft laugh. “But, honestly, if you ever run into any problems at all…” she reached into her shirt and brought out a little card, pressing it into your pocket as she smiled. “You give me one call, and I’ll sort it for you.” 

“I- why?” You asked, confused and looking between her and your pocket. 

“Because you make Byers happier than I have ever seen him,” she admitted quietly. “And… well, as much as I hate to admit it, those fools are my friends… welcome aboard, (y/n).” 

“Thanks, Yves,” you said softly, flashing her a smile and watching her go back to her car, but when Byers came back, you tossed your cigarette onto the floor, and grinned. “You get everything you need?”

“I think so,” he nodded, once more walking over to the passenger side in order to open your door for you before he even thought about getting in himself, he had opened the side door and left it open for the others for when they returned, but he didn’t mind, he was thankful to have some time with you, just you and him and no one else. “How are you feeling? I know you haven’t-” 

“Honestly? Better than I’ve felt in years,” you admitted with a smile. “Way, way, better than I’ve felt in years.” 

“And your arms?” He asked softly, looking you up and down with concern for a moment; he knew that you wanted him to forget, but the images and the feel of those healed wounds were haunting him, and he needed to ask if only to ensure that you were alright, that you weren’t in pain. 

“John, sugar, I’m okay,” you chuckled, gripping his hand tightly and bringing his knuckles to your lips, pressing a sweet kiss to the skin as you shook your head. “I love the fact that you care, you know I do, but I’m a big boy, I can look after myself, and I’m okay. I’m not in pain. The scabs are pretty much entirely healed, now.” 

“Okay,” Byers said softly, nodding, daring to shoot you a flash of that smile that he knew made your knees weak as he gently ran his thumb along your knuckles. “And you’re sure you want to go through with this? It’s not too late if you want to change your mind or if-” 

“Oh, I haven’t been more sure of fucking anything in my life,” you grinned. “Trust me, John, I want to be with you, I want to able to see you every day, I want to support your newspaper and to keep you guys safe and with a home, and fed - don’t act like I don’t know, I know you guys can’t even fucking afford to feed yourselves sometimes, and I want to help with that. Let me… let me put my money with Jimmy’s so at least then you guys don’t have to worry about that shit, alright?” 

“Alright,” he nodded again, smiling at you so fondly that it was enough to make you sick from how sweet it was. “You know I love you, right?”

“Of course I know,” you leaned over slightly so that you could capture him in a sweet kiss for just a few moments, just a few extra moments to be together and to feel his lips on yours before you would have to wait until the next traffic jam or the next service station. “John Fitzgerald Byers, you make me the happiest fucking man on the earth, you know that, right?”

But just as he was about to open his mouth to reply, Langy bursted into the van and stole their seat, followed by Jimmy, and then Frohike; they were all honestly quite relieved to be back in the van after having to wait so long in a queue just to use the lavatory. 

“We all good to go?” You asked them, turning around in your seat so that you could look at each of them. 

They nodded back, confirming to you that they were more than ready to go, to get home at last and to relax once the paper was published. 

You stole another quick kiss from Byers before leaning back into your seat and smiling. “Take us home, baby.” 

“I would love to.”


End file.
